The Strongest Nation
by ArixaBell
Summary: Hetalia meets Battle Royale: The nations are kidnapped and forced into a deadly game of kill or be killed, which only one can survive. Rated M for violence and other disturbing stuff
1. Chapter 1

_So I suppose taking the characters from one thing and putting them in a situation from another thing isn't the most creative... thing in the world. But the story's been nagging at me, so write it I shall._

_The nations (yes, nations, it's not a Hetalia Gakuen AU ;) ) are kidnapped and forced into a Battle Royale scenario of kill or be killed, with only one survivor allowed..._

_It won't follow BR's storyline to the letter, but there's bound to be plenty of plot similarities, due to the similarity of the situation. And there's some memorable moments in BR that I just have to utilize!_

_I debated for ages on whether to use the book's or the movie's time limit rule, and ended up deciding on book. Then at the last minute I changed my mind and went with movie. I'm so decisive!_

_America's technically the main character, though of course the story will switch between the zillion (well, 39) other characters. Though romance isn't the main part of the story (hehe, ya think?) there's still pairings, either already established, or cheesy last-minute love confessions and whatnot. For the most part, just the "usual" pairings – America and England, Germany and Italy, Austria and Hungary, Sweden and Finland, etc. etc._

_Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine. Neither is Battle Royale._

_Okay, enough of the friggin long intro._

* * *

"So my idea," America concluded, slapping his hands onto the conference table and startling several sleeping nations, "is to set a bunch of giant traps and use their favorite foods as bait!" He grinned at the room, at the other thirty nine assembled nations, waiting for their praise. All that met his questioning glance, though, were a bunch of looks that ranged from amusement to incredulity to horror.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" England finally said after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence.

America was not phased by the insult. "Look, I know you have no idea what their favorite foods are. I don't either! That's what Google is for."

Rubbing his temples, Germany rose to his feet and strode to America's side. "I'm taking over now."

"What? No way! I'm always in charge."

"We're discussing something very _serious_ here! And you can't be serious for five min-"

"I can be serious," America said. "Don't be such a sour kraut. I'm handling this." He propelled the spluttering, red-faced German back to his seat, and shuffled through his note cards.

The situation that had brought them together in an emergency meeting of forty nations—thirty nine, technically, what was Prussia doing there?—was the disappearance of four Central American nations. The remaining three were baffled as to what had happened. They had all been in a meeting together, everything was fine, they returned to their hotels, and the next day there were only three. The others had vanished without a trace.

The kidnapping made some sense, though. They had 'America' in their name, that made them awesome, of course someone would want them!

"Ah! Here we are." America found the right card. "Let's see. There have been investigations going on as to what has become of their countries in their absence. Who was in charge of that?"

"You were..." a soft voice said, and everyone looked around.

"Eh?" America blinked. "Oh, Canada! Thanks." He accepted the manila envelope his brother was holding up and dug out some papers. "Huh."

"You didn't even _look_ at the information first?" Prussia muttered.

"No. And why are you here, anyway? You weren't invited."

"I came with my brother. As his guest. Didn't you get our RSVP?"

"Your what? This isn't a bloody wedding!" (at that, England smiled to himself. He liked when the boy's upbringing showed through during times of annoyance.) America tried to tune out further distractions as he scanned the documents. "Well. This isn't good."

"Spit it out!" several voices cried.

America licked his lips, his expression growing uncharacteristically serious. "Guatemala is no more," he said, voice soft. He looked around at the shocked, unbelieving faces. "Buildings destroyed, people dead, the works. Nothing left."

"But...how?" Italy whispered.

"Unknown. As for the rest...it makes even less sense. Nicaragua is fine. And while El Salvador and Honduras weren't destroyed like Guatemala, they no longer exist as countries. The borders were erased; they are now part of Nicaragua."

There was another moment of shocked silence, before the room erupted into a tidal wave of sound. Nations loudly expressed their alarm, bafflement, fright. They demanded answers, they blamed each other, they clung to each other. The chaos continued for quite a few minutes before a shot rang out, and silence descended once again.

America lowered his gun, ignoring the bits of plaster that crumbled onto his head. "Panicking will get us nowhere." He rather liked the way everyone was gaping at him like idiots. That was more like it! "We need to think rationally. What could have happened to them to cause such results in their countries?"

But nobody knew. No matter how hard they brainstormed, everyone was at a loss. It made no _sense!_ What had happened to the nations? What had happened to their _countries?_ And...and _why was Finland sleeping!?_ Even Greece was wide awake! America was just about to storm over there and give him a mighty poking when Sweden slumped against the smaller man and also snoozed away. Oh, that was just great. America was actually hosting a _good_ meeting, and it had been at least ten minutes since he had been called stupid, and everyone was _listening_ to him, and...there went Estonia! He slumped forward onto his notes, followed swiftly by the other Baltics.

As nation after nation passed out, America was starting to think that something may be wrong. As did the others, who quickly stood up with cries of alarm. But they too succumbed, dropping to the floor. Romano and Vietnam made a dash for the door, but they tumbled to the ground before they had even crossed half the room.

And so America stood alone, mouth hanging open. It had all happened so quick, so shocking, escape hadn't even occurred to him. He took one step away from the table before his limbs suddenly felt impossibly heavy and he pitched over onto the carpet. His foggy brain couldn't even form a coherent thought before darkness consumed him.

* * *

As he swam closer to consciousness, the first thought that occurred to America was _Ow_. His head was killing him. In a hangover way, rather than a beat-in-the-skull way. He had been in both states often enough to know the difference. Had he gotten drunk last night? He couldn't remember...

When he finally dared to crack an eye open, he frowned slightly. He had _no_ idea where he was. Wherever it was, it was big, and dimly lit. What was _happening?_

Then the memories of the last meeting came crashing back to him, and America bolted upright, ignoring his throbbing head. They had all passed out! Gas? Drugged drinks? And now they were in a strange place. Kidnapped!

Kidnapped...just like the devastated Central American nations...

America drew his knees to his chest, chewing on his lower lip. What was going on? Who would kidnap nations? What did they have planned? And why was he worrying? He was a hero! He'd get them all out of this safely.

His eyes were finally growing used to the dim lighting, and he was able to make out a bit more about his surroundings. The huge room had a variety of boxes and crates shoved along the walls. A warehouse of some sort? Seemed likely. The dim lighting came from tiny windows near the ceiling; he had no idea what time it was but the light filtering in indicated day. And the floor was covered in bodies. Their kidnappers had dumped everyone there. Were they all alive? Well, certainly they were, they _couldn't_ be killed. Of course they couldn't.

Trying to ignore the lump of fear in his throat, America crawled among the other nations. They remained asleep, some twitching slightly as wakefulness loomed. None seemed harmed, at least. Once he located a familiar blond mop and set of bushy eyebrows, America settled back down, waiting. He didn't have long, at least, before England gave a low moan and slowly pried open one eyelid.

"You okay?"

"Am...erica?" England winced and clutched at his head. "What the hell?"

"I don't know. I think we were gassed or something at the meeting, it made us pass out. The hangover feeling passes after a bit."

"Gassed...?" The Brit slowly sat up, peering at America through narrowed green eyes.

"Or something like that. We've been kidnapped. Looks like all of us. We're in some sort of warehouse..."

"Bloody hell." England covered his eyes and leaned against America. "All of us kidnapped? How stupid. What the hell was security doing?"

"Hey..."

"Hey what?"

"You're wearing a necklace."

"What rubbish are you talking about _now?_ I'm not...oh. I am." England fingered his throat, thick brows furrowing. "So are you, you know."

"I am?" Alarmed, America reached for his own throat. Sure enough, his fingers met cool metal. How had he missed that? "Our kidnappers fitted us with jewelry. That's just bizarre."

"Feels more like a collar," the Brit muttered. "Maybe we're supposed to be someone's slaves now."

"Slaves?" America's heart gave a little lurch.

"Makes more sense than them loading us with bloody jewelry."

"I guess..." The taller blond put an arm around England and drew him closer. He was trying to convince himself that he was a hero, and could get them out of this, and most certainly was not terrified. Around them came slight movement and alarmed muttering as the other nations came to.

"I've been awake the longest," America said loudly, hoping to curtail any impending massive confused panic. "I guess I can fill you in. We've been kidnapped, we're in some sort of warehouse or something, and we're wearing...collars." More cries of alarm as fingers flew to throats to find out for themselves.

"America," England whispered.

"Huh?"

"You can...you can get us out, right?"

The question was at once heartbreaking and terrifying. That didn't sound like something England would say. He always teased his former brother for his heroic declarations and antics. America swallowed hard. "Yeah, sure. I'm the hero, right?"

"I ain't putting up with this bullshit!" someone loudly declared over the rest of the noise. Heads swiveled and eyes turned to Cuba, who had sprung to his feet. He was easily discernible with his loud shirt and dreadlocks. "Are you? We won't tolerate being fucked with and _collared!_"

"Cuba, sit down," someone else hissed. "You don't know what-"

"Hell no! No _way!_ Don't tell me the rest of you are going to sit tight like good boys and girls." He glared around the room. "Stay and jump through hoops, I don't care. I'm out of here." Despite several protests, he reached back to fumble with the the collar, apparently hunting for its fastening. There was a click in the hushed silence.

Then a loud pop, almost like a gunshot, accompanying a flash of light. And then blood was spurting out from the Cuban's throat. He gaped, eyes widening as he reached a hand up in slow motion to try and stem the flow. But it was far too late. And it wasn't until his body hit the ground that the screams started.

America refused to scream. He simply clung tighter to England, a pair of stones in the torrent of bodies that surged away from Cuba.

"Wait! Wait!" Spain was the only one inching _closer _to the body lying in a sticky red puddle. "He's...he's one of us. He can't die!"

"He's still alive like that?" Italy wailed.

"He's unconscious, at least." Spain knelt down, trying without much success to avoid any blood. He rested his fingers against Cuba's throat. Frowned. Tried his wrist. Reached under to feel his chest. Felt his lips and nose for breath. "He's dead." And the screaming resumed.

Time passed, it was impossible to say how long. Probably not much. America and England didn't speak, and tried not to listen to the panic around them as the others wondered how they could possibly be mortal, who would want to kill them, and so forth. But they couldn't help but hear anyway.

And then, as abruptly as it had started, the shouts halted. Like somebody had flipped the off switch.

It was, actually, a door. All eyes were on the door that had just slammed open. A man strode in. He was dressed in a fine black suit—it fit in, really, they were _all_ wearing suits thanks to the meeting—which matched his glossy black hair. Appropriate villain color. All he needed was a black cowboy hat, and America would be ready to take him on.

Such would not be the case, though. Following the impeccably dressed fellow were about a dozen soldiers who seemed perfectly capable of preventing good cowboys from confronting him.

The florescent lights that lined the ceiling abruptly flared to life, and everyone winced at the sudden assault on their pupils. That passed quickly, though, and they rounded on their captor.

"So noisy," he said, like an amused schoolteacher chiding a pupil. His voice was soft, accented, though the somewhat geography-impaired American couldn't place it. "I hope you will keep quiet. I don't like being interrupted by idiotic shouting. Understood?" He swept his gaze around the room, meeting the shocked stares of assorted nations. "Good! Oh dear. Poor fellow. Who is that? Cuba, I believe." There were gasps at the casual reference to the man's nation name, by a human. "Well, he taught you all a lesson, yes? That's one less thing I need to teach you. The collars can't be removed." He gave a pleasant smile. "The same thing will happen if I manually trigger them! I can do specific ones, or all at once. _And_ they monitor your vitals!"

"Our _vitals?_" Prussia exclaimed.

"Yes. Your pulse and breathing."

"Oh..."

"It's a good way to make sure you do what we want, _and_ we can keep track of where you are and who's alive!" He grinned, like that was the best idea in the world.

"Who's alive?" America whispered. "Why do they need to keep track of that?"

"Ah ah, stop whispering." The man wagged a finger. "You would be America, correct? Wonderful. I've got a lot of money riding on you. The sergeant over there put his money on Russia. So do me proud, okay?"

America just stared at him. They were betting on something? What the fuck?

"These collars," the fellow continued, addressing the entire room again, "are masterpieces. A brilliant combination of state-of-the-art technology, and black magic." For some reason, he seemed to be looking at England when he said that, and winked. _That_ made no sense. Magic wasn't even real! What did England have to do with anything? "Along with everything I've already mentioned, they will also _cause_ you to die. As long as one of these babies is within ten feet of you, you're as fragile and mortal as a human!"

"That's impossible," America muttered. But England had gone stiff in his arms, trembling a little. "England? Artie? You okay, man?"

"It's possible," the shorter man breathed. "Incredibly difficult. But possible."

It really was hard to argue further. They had evidence right in the midst of them, sprawled on the floor.

"Who are you?" somebody finally demanded. It sounded like Australia.

"Does it matter? You can call me...Smith."

"And...what do you want?"

"Power! Why else?" His grin was like a hungry shark. "We have already experimented on what happens when one of _you_ dies. Normally, their country is destroyed. That's what happened to Guatemala. And what is happening to Cuba right now, I imagine. But, and here's the interesting part, if one of _you_ does it...if a nation murders another...why, the murderer gains that land! Nicaragua won that little test, and he acquired the two countries he vanquished!"

"Did you know about that?" America whispered, but received no answer.

"So here's the deal! We're going to set you loose on the lovely island we're on. You'll be given supplies. The personal belongings you took to the meeting are here for you to collect, and we also have a nice supply bag for each of you! And each one contains some survival essentials. Food, water, maps, flashlight, that sort of thing. And a weapon! You need a weapon, of course. They're completely random, and not all are even very good. We thought we might as well make a game out of it! And the game will last 72 hours. Or less, depending on how well you do. Last one alive wins! That's all there is to it. You kill each other off until there's one winner."

"And..." Japan's voice was shaking. "The time limit?"

"Motivation! If we imposed no limits, none of you would participate! When time's up, we activate all collars. You all die, and all your countries die with you. The world is devastated. That would suck, huh? But if you participate, nothing bad happens! Well, except to you, personally. But your countries will be safe. The people will be safe. It's just that all that land will belong to the winner. And the winner, who will remain collared and docile, will belong to us."

"They're betting on Russia to win, and they think he will remain docile?" America muttered.

"That's really about it! As I said, we'll know where you are, and who's alive and whatnot. Ah! I almost forgot. As you can imagine, one way to get your collar detonated is to try and leave the island. But another way is to try and return to this building after the last one of you has left. Basically, don't do anything you wouldn't want us to find out about, and you'll be fine."

"This is a bad dream, right?" England whispered.

"The game will begin at noon, when I call the first name. I'll make an announcement a few times a day to fill you in on who's dead."

"I don't think so," America whispered back.

"You'll be filing out in alphabetical order, with a couple minutes between each one. When I call your name, grab your personal items and supply bag, and get your ass outside. Once you do that, your next move is entirely up to you. I'd be careful who I trust if I were you!"

The nations' heads swiveled around, taking in who all was with them. Who would participate? Who could they trust? Various pairs and groups huddled together, whispering, presumably making plans for meeting up.

"I'll wait for you," America said. "They're using our English nation names, I should be first."

"Unless they use your whole nation name," England said.

"Then I'd be one of the last. But in that case you'd be right ahead of me."

"There, twelve on the dot. America!" 'Smith' said, and that answered that.

America just happened to be looking at the crowd when his name was called, and he was a bit hurt by the fear expressed in many faces. They were afraid of him! The thought of America, armed with God knew what, waiting for them _scared_ them. "No worries!" he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I'm still the hero!" He squeezed England's hand and stood up. All eyes were on him as he walked over to their pile of personal belongings. He picked up his bag, slung his jacket over one shoulder, then headed for the mound of large identical duffel bags. With a shrug, he selected one at random—and damn near toppled over. It wasn't that the bag was _too_ heavy. But the fact that it felt heavy at all...! Was this what everyone else felt like? The strength they possessed? No wonder he could so easily kick their asses! _When they said we're as fragile as humans...they meant it. This'll take some getting used to._

He could not show weakness in front of the others, though. Ignoring the bizarre weight, letting no sign of this newfound lack of strength show and hoping they hadn't noticed the initial stagger, America gave the room a jaunty wave. He turned and headed out the door, into a long hallway. He suddenly had a mental image of a prison hallway, the door at the end leading to execution. _Stupid brain_.

Taking a deep breath, America strode down the hall toward the exit.


	2. Chapter 2

_Fun detail: the weapon distribution really __**was**__ random. I did up a list of weapons and used a random number generator to assign them to the characters. Oh, Prussia...that couldn't have worked out better if I had tried!_

_I'm not going to portray _every _character as they leave. Just some. Then get to the others later. I ought to post a character list/death chart somewhere..._

_Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine._

* * *

Canada clutched his bags tightly against his chest as he walked down the hallway. He was only the sixth in line, but any one of those five before him could be lying in wait. Or four. He was _pretty_ sure his brother wouldn't murder him. Right?

China would be next, he figured. Would China be a threat? Impossible to tell. Canada wasn't _personally_ afraid of him, but...anyone could be an enemy now. Would being one of the oldest among them make him more or less likely to be determined to win and continue living at the expense of everyone else?

Shaking away such thoughts, Canada reached the exit and cautiously pushed the door open. Blue-violet eyes squinted out into the harsh light. He could not afford to dawdle, though, and he hurried on outside.

There was forest nearby. That would be a good place to hide and get organized. Canada trotted in that direction, tripping over something with a curse. He stumbled, but managed to regain his balance and remain upright. He glanced down, and whimpered. It was a body sprawled in the path...

"B-Belgium..." Canada squatted down, brushing red-stained blond hair out of her face. Another had fallen already! They had barely begun! And that answered his previous musings. One of those already outside was willing to play this game.

He ran for the trees, trying to force down his nausea. He wouldn't have stopped running at all, except a pair of arms caught him, one hand clamping over his mouth. Canada bucked wildly, whimpering, panicked thoughts racing through his head. He was going to end up like Belgium, he just knew it! Dead within minutes of the stupid 'game' starting. He prayed it would at least be quick, and his people would be taken care of...

"Cut it out," a voice hissed. "I'm not gonna hurt you, geez."

America! Canada's struggles ceased and he sagged in his brother's arms. The hand covering his mouth dropped away. "It's you..."

"Yup." America released him entirely and leaned against a tree. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

"You scared the _shit_ out of me!"

"I said I was sorry."

"Wh-who killed Belgium?"

"Belarus."

Canada winced. "Not surprising, I guess." She could be scary.

"Belarus had a stupid weapon. Flowers or something. Then Belgium came out behind her with a nifty little gun, so she decided to take it. That wasn't long before you came out."

"Oh man...Shouldn't someone move her body?"

America glanced the way they had come. "No. She'll serve as a good warning for everyone else; that this is real and some are indeed participating. Make them more wary."

This, coming from the man who had recently suggested they find the missing Central American nations by setting out food traps. "I suppose you're right."

"So what did you get?"

"Huh?"

America pulled something cylindrical and metal out of his pocket. He flicked it, and a blade sprang out. "Not bad, huh? Better than flowers."

"Oh." Canada shot a quick glance around to make sure nobody had ventured too close, and hunkered down to inspect his supply bag. He pushed aside water bottles and unappealing-looking rations, until he found his own weapon and pulled it out. His twin's blue eyes widened.

"Mattie...I love you..."

Canada's lips curved slightly. "You want to trade? I know how much you like guns."

"Oh yes! Yes yes, thank you." America tossed the switchblade over (thankfully, after retracting the blade) and eagerly took the handgun, like a new mother accepting her baby. "Lovely."

"There's more." Canada dug out some extra magazines.

"Score!"

"Shhh. Don't get us killed because you're hollering over a gun, eh?"

"Sorry." America checked the gun over, and tucked it away somewhere on his person. Canada did the same with his knife.

"Let's go. I don't want to stay right here."

America shook his head. "I'm waiting for England."

"But...!"

"I'm waiting for England!"

America's use of "I" rather than "we" was ominous. Canada stopped protesting.

"The food's lame, don't you think?" America asked, wrinkling his nose.

"Shh. I think I hear someone..."

They stood, still as statues, straining their ears. The sound of crunching leaves soon reached them, accompanied by muttered curses. Canada thought it might be England, but as the voice drew near, he was able to make out the thick Danish accent.

"A lamp shade? Really? I got a lamp shade?"

Canada sagged in relief against the tree. Denmark was nobody to fuck with, but they were a bit better armed than he was, if he proved dangerous.

"This is ridiculous. I'm gonna die because I thought about grabbing _that_ bag, then I grabbed _this_ bag, because I figured with my luck, my first choice would suck!"

America silently laughed, and Canada couldn't help but smile, too. The poor guy.

The grumbling Dane drew ever closer, then finally passed them by. They didn't completely relax until all sound of his passing were gone.

"Who's next?" America whispered.

"Denmark, then..." Canada went over a mental list of the meeting attendees. "Egypt?"

"Getting closer. Then we can get the hell out of here, and figure out how I can save everyone." America stepped out from behind the tree.

"Whoa, wait, where are you going?" Canada refused to budge. As long as nobody dangerous spotted him, he wasn't leaving his hiding spot until they had collected everyone and were seeking a better hiding spot.

"He might not go this way. What if we miss him? I'm getting closer."

Canada chewed on his lower lip, weighing his options. He certainly did not want to return to the warehouse. But he didn't really want to be left alone...Well, whatever. Nobody ever noticed him, anyway. And America had already left.

He felt a pang of regret suddenly, realizing he hadn't even thought of his friend Cuba since leaving the warehouse. Poor Cuba... maybe they could have joined up, had Cuba not gotten himself killed? Not with America around, that was for sure. And then Canada realized that the whole scenario might not have worked, at all. _He'd have seen me, thought I was America—_armed _and possibly _willing to kill him _America—and he'd have killed me!_ Maybe it was better that Cuba had been removed from the game before that could have happened. And then the pang of regret became a stab of guilt for being at all glad about his friend's death.

It wasn't a long wait before the sound of footsteps returned. Two sets of footsteps.

"I left him around here somewhere," America was saying.

"Was that a good idea?" England's voice. Good, now they could get the hell away.

"He's got our supplies and weapons. And he kicks almost as much ass as I do! He's fine."

Canada smiled slightly. His brother could be nice sometimes. "I'm still here."

"Ah! Found him."

England stepped around the tree, and rolled his eyes. "You didn't find him. He called out to us."

"I brought us into the right general vicinity."

"Hi, Arthur." Canada waved.

"Matthew. Shall we get out of here?"

"Yes!"

"Wait, wait." America held up his hands. "What's your weapon, Artie? I got a knife, and he got a gun, and we switched."

"Oh, I don't know yet." England investigated his own bag. What emerged was a tennis shoe.

"Ah well." America chuckled. "I suppose it was too much to hope for that we all got something useful."

"You could throw it at someone," England muttered. "With your stupid strength, it could become a deadly missile."

"Yeah, about that..." America picked up a nice thick stick and attempted to break it. He should have snapped it like a twig, but barely cracked. "When he said we're like mortals, he meant it."

"Our strength is gone? Normal, that is?" Canada gaped. He hadn't even noticed! Now that he thought about it, though, lugging those bags around had been a bit more work than they should have been.

England folded his arms, scowling. "That could pose a few problems."

"We'll work around it. We're armed, anyway." America shouldered his bag. "_Now_ let's get the hell out of here."

"Brilliant idea," England said. The trio turned resolutely away from the warehouse, and walked off at a brisk pace.

Though he was relieved to finally be on the move, Canada couldn't quite shake the nagging feeling that they were forgetting something.

* * *

"Hello?" Avoiding the body of poor lovely little Belgium, France desperately looked around each tree. He had overheard other nations making plans together back inside, where to meet and whatnot. So where _were_ they now? Oh sure, he was only number fourteen out of forty—or whatever number they were down to now. But one of those thirteen had to want to wait for France! What about England? What about _Canada?_ Did nobody want to be with France?

"Anybody? It's your big brother here!" He walked deeper into the woods. "I'll be your loyal protector!" He didn't want to be alone! This sucked.

Giving up, France settled down to take stock. His weapon turned out to be a small sickle. "How vulgar." He set it on his lap, and waited. Some lucky person would wander by eventually.

* * *

Chopsticks. That was what Germany discovered in his bag. Since there was nothing else weapon-related, he had to assume that's what they were intended to be.

Whatever. He was on a mission. He and Italy had planned to meet up on the north end of the island, so that's where he was headed. He frowned at the map in his hands, noting the layout of the small chunk of land. The northern area didn't look too far. He squared his shoulders and marched onward.

* * *

"Austria!" Hungary flew into his arms. "You waited for me."

"I said I would."

"Did you see Belgium?"

"I saw."

"What are we going to do?"

"I don't know. I don't want to kill fellow nations." Austria sighed. "But we might need to defend ourselves. I've got a pretty nice gun. A big one."

"Do you?" Hungary's eyes widened. "Good. I'll take care of anyone who messes with us! Can I have the gun?"

Austria scratched his head. "Let's find somewhere else to stay first."

"Where do you want to go?"

"The map shows a cave. Let's go there for now."

"Okay."

* * *

"What the hell is this shit?" Romano scowled down at the item in his hand.

"Ve...it's kind of cool, actually." His brother smiled.

"MP3 players are cool. But not when it's _supposed to be a weapon!_"

"Play some really bad music, really loud."

"Funny." Romano shoved it back into his bag and stalked away.

"Wait for me!" Italy jogged to catch up. This was the last place he wanted to be left alone.

"Why? You want to go find _him_."

"I know you don't like him," Italy whined. "But you have to admit, he'll make a good ally!"

"Someone I want to punch in the face is not a good ally!" Romano shoved his unoccupied hand into his pocket. "What's your weapon?"

"Ta-da!" Italy pulled a white flag out of his personal bag.

"THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT!"

"Oh." Italy next pulled a handgun out of his supply bag.

"Now that's more like it!" Romano grabbed for it, but his brother held it out of range.

"Hey, it's mine, it was in my bag!"

"Do you even know how to _use_ that?"

Italy ignored the question. "It's going with me. The gun and I are going to meet with Germany."

"Dammit, bastard, you'd leave me to die out here?"

"No, because you're coming, too."

"I can't believe this shit..." Romano growled, stalking along beside Italy. As if it wasn't bad enough he could _die_, he might die _allied with Germany_. Could this day get any worse?

* * *

38 nations remaining

* * *

_Poor France. I'd wait for you, France!_

_For the characters who've left, but weren't mentioned, assume they've wandered off on their own, or are waiting for someone(s). It's not that I dislike writing anyone besides the 'main' group, they just don't have anything exciting going on yet, and we want to get on with it, yes?_

_Should just be one more chapter before the REAL fun begins (well, there is some fun next chapter, mwahaha). Bear with me!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Aaand, I did a chibi character chart. XD Check my profile for a link.  
_

_Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine._

* * *

Egypt ran his fingers along the smooth barrel of the sawed-off shotgun, heaving a deep sigh. He shoved the weapon back into his bag and hauled himself to his feet. He could hear sounds, voices from far off. He wasn't sure how much time had passed since he had left the building, but he imagined quite a few of the others were wandering around by now. Egypt had made no plans on meeting with anybody else. He couldn't think of anyone he trusted that much.

He could see a small building in the distance, and decided to make that his destination for now. There might be other supplies, or food, and maybe he could even stay there a while! He idly wondered who had lived on this island, and where they were now.

"Ah..." The voice came from behind. Egypt whirled around, hand reaching into his bag to retrieve the gun. A short way from him stood a tall man with spiky brown hair and a scarred forehead. His absolutely terrified expression made Egypt relax a bit and remove his hand, unarmed.

"Holland. It's, uh, it's good to see you." He wasn't sure if it was, yet, but...

"Don't hurt me. I'm unarmed. Except for this." The taller nation tossed a red ball at Egypt's feet. "They gave me a Christmas ornament, without even the benefit of a hook."

Egypt mustered a smile, relaxing another minuscule amount.

"Were you heading for that building up ahead? It looks like a good place to stay."

"Maybe." The Egyptian turned to look back at it, wondering. He realized his mistake an instant too late, when an arm wrapped tightly around his throat.

"Nothing personal," Holland said, sounding almost sad, as Egypt pried at the unmoving arm and struggled to draw in a breath. "But I'm not going to die here." He was pulled tighter against Holland's body, arm tightening its hold as well. Egypt's lungs burned and spots danced before his eyes. His own arms dropped to his side as his strength drained away. "I'll be good to my former Egyptian citizens," was the last thing the desert nation ever heard.

After dropping the body and making sure no life remained, Holland snatched up the other man's bag. He examined the gun, and grinned. "Now that's what I'm talking about!"

* * *

Japan strode confidently through the woods, on the alert for anybody else. Potential enemies, or potential allies, he was ready. His weapon wasn't much—a fancy dagger, not much good against a gun or something (and he had heard gunshots in the short time he had been outside), but he still wasn't worried. Someone armed with a better weapon would underestimate someone with a blade. And they would learn the hard way to fear a blade in the hands of a skilled fighter.

He had a mental list of whom he could probably trust, and definitely not trust. The trustworthy list was sadly short.

A sudden noise behind him, and Japan came damn close to skewering an innocent squirrel. Horrified, he bowed and apologized profusely, though the animal didn't seem too impressed. It scurried further up the tree, and Japan leaned against the rough bark. _I just got here and I'm already losing it._

But now wasn't the time to be feeling sorry for himself. He pushed himself off the tree, and continued onward. He had no specific destination in mind, but had simply picked a direction.

"Hey...is it safe to approach you?"

A smile tugged at Japan's lips. "Greece-san. I'm safe if you are."

The olive-skinned brunet stepped into view, bags over his shoulders and rabbit plushie gripped tightly in his arms.

Japan eyed the toy. "Cute bunny. Did you bring that with you?"

"I'm afraid not. It was in my supply bag. And I've asked you to call me by name, Kiku."

"I know, Greece-san."

"Now's not the time to get into that, huh?"

"Now is not. Do you want to come with me? You're on my 'safe people' list." And there was not anyone on his safe list he would have been happier to see (except maybe somebody who'd be better in a fight).

Greece's emerald eyes brightened. "I am? I'd like to go with you, yes."

"I was heading this way."

"What's this way?"

"That's what we're going to find out."

* * *

"Who's there?" Norway said, wielding a stick. His own assigned weapon was technically deadly, but not very useful in their predicament. _This is where we were going to meet, isn't it?_

"It's us!" Denmark stepped into view. For some reason, he had a lampshade on his head. Beside him, Iceland looked a little embarrassed.

"Good. Let's go."

"We found a kickass place to go!" Denmark grinned. "A nice two-story house. It doesn't have a lot of windows, and we can board them up."

"With what?"

"It's a house! It's gotta have furniture and hammers and nails. And I'll be on guard!"

Norway pursed his lips. Did that sound safe? Well, it sounded better than wandering around outside waiting for someone to kill them. "Sure. Whatever. Show it to me."

* * *

"WHAT THE HELL!?" Prussia glared at the object in his hand, willing it to become something better. "WHO THOUGHT IT'D BE FUNNY TO GIVE ME A FUCKING TUBE OF FUCKING LIPSTICK!?" He decided to ignore the fact that he had chosen the bag of supplies himself. "It's an ugly shade, too!"

He stormed off, viciously stepping on twigs and leaves. It occurred to him that he might want to be a bit more quiet, but whatever. If anyone wanted to mess with him, they'd get lipsticked in the eye.

"Prussia! It's you!" A blond head poked out to smile at him. "I knew somebody would want to join big brother!"

Prussia ceased his murder of innocent foliage. Join? "Got anything useful, France?"

"You mean like a weapon? A sickle."

"It's pointier than what I've got. Come aboard."

* * *

As he stepped out the exit, the first thing Russia heard was the sound of Prussia hollering about something or other. He smiled to himself. If anyone wanted to kill Prussia, it would be an easy thing to do.

Russia wasn't sure what he wanted to do. The end result sounded nice, that was for sure. But Russia had always dreamed about more _fun_ ways of everyone becoming one with him. Of course, if the only alternative was for _them_ to kill _him_...

It wouldn't be too hard, he thought, to find another way off the island. If enough of them got together and planned, they should think of something in 72 hours.

Or they might not. And then it would be too late and everyone would die. Russia was confident that he could win, and did he _really_ care that much about the others' health?

Dilemmas, dilemmas.

He just so happened, at that moment, to see something nestled in the grass, glinting in the sun. He stooped over to pick it up, and smiled.

An American penny. Those were considered lucky in America, weren't they?

So. Heads or... (Russia flipped the coin over) building. Heads, he participated, and killed everyone with no mercy. Building, he'd join forces with the others. Russia tossed the penny into the air, and watched as it spun, following its arc with his eyes until it landed back in the grass. He peered closer.

The face of America's dead boss looked back at him. Or rather, it looked at something off to the side.

That was that.

Russia eagerly dug out his weapon, but was disappointed to discover only a baseball. He tossed it aside. Maybe somebody would trip on it. Instead, he rummaged around in his own bag, and pulled out his lucky pipe. It was more lucky than a penny.

Now where was Prussia?

Russia gave up after a quick search of the area. Mostly because he couldn't _hear_ him anymore. If he couldn't hear Prussia, Prussia was probably gone.

He did, however, find Australia wandering around.

Australia only had time to scream. The last things he saw were flashing violet eyes, a mouth stretched into a smile. And worst of all, a pipe raised over his head, poised to strike.

Russia brought the pipe down, hard, and the southern island nation's skull gave with a sickening crunch. Australia dropped like a sand bag. Russia swung his pipe down again, and again, pulping the head until he was satisfied. When he finally decided that was enough, he straightened back up, tapping the gory pipe against his hand.

Ah, right! Russia hunkered back down to go through Australia's things. His personal bag held nothing of interest. His supply bag contained a handgun. That might come in handy at some point. So Russia took that. Then he turned and walked away without another glance at the mess he had made.

* * *

Seychelles clung tightly to her frying pan, inching along. She paused every few feet to turn around, scanning her surroundings with wide eyes. Her heart refused to calm down. She wondered if somebody was going to find her by the sound of her racing heart alone.

"Is somebody there?" she whispered. She could have sworn she heard something... But nobody answered, so she continued her terrified trek. Of course, if it were somebody with malicious intent, they _wouldn't_ answer, would they...

"Found you~" came suddenly from behind her. Her blood froze at the sound of that cheerful, boyish voice. Instincts kicked in, and Seychelles flung herself to the side, just as a bloody faucet pipe went swinging with deadly force down where her head had been an instant before.

"Psycho freak!" Seychelles swung her frying pan, and was rewarded with a ringing _thwank_ as it connected with Russia's head. She didn't stick around a second longer, turning and bolting through the trees. She ran as fast as her legs could manage, praying her slight body was faster than Russia's bulky self. She ran, and she wouldn't stop running until she knew for sure she had lost him, or her legs gave out.

* * *

Spain glanced at his map, then faced north and ran. He had overheard Germany and Italy making plans to meet. And knowing Italy, he would drag his brother along with him, no matter who else would be with them.

"Hold on, Romano! Don't leave before I get there, I'm coming!"

* * *

Turkey settled back and watched the events unfolding below him. The branch was sturdy, if not comfortable. He couldn't do much damage with an empty milk jug (not that a full one would be better), so he figured he may as well wait for the area to be clear before doing anything. There were only two people left after him, but many were still wandering around near the warehouse, looking for companions, or simply looking lost.

He watched as Sweden finally located Finland, and they hurried off together. He watched Taiwan and Thailand run into each other, freak out, then decide to team up. The remaining two behind him, Ukraine and Vietnam, also ended up in a wary alliance.

After that, it wasn't much longer before the area was vacated. Turkey dropped from the tree, landing heavily with a grunt. He retrieved his belongings from their hidey hole.

Time to play.

* * *

36 nations remaining

* * *

_Yeah...being only a minor character is deadly. ;)  
_


	4. Chapter 4

_I hope the characters sound okay. I'm writing a lot of people I'm not used to. XD_

_Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine._

* * *

"I'm hungry," America whined.

"You just ate." England winced when a branch the American had shoved aside for himself came back to whack him in the face. "Ow. If you plow through all your rations now, you'll be even hungrier later."

"They're _gross_. What I wouldn't give for a big, fat, juicy..."

"Don't think about it, then." England's stomach gave a rumble of agreement. Even one of America's favorite foods sounded appealing. "Or talk about it."

But Canada just had to chime in. "Or a nice fluffy stack of..."

"Just shut up, you two. Or I'll talk about _my_ favorite food."

"Couldn't you hit me with your shoe-weapon instead?" America said.

"Wanker."

England would never admit to it, but he was secretly enjoying the banter. It kept his mind off the _other_ myriad topics he could be focusing on instead. He had a feeling that was their own reasoning for going on about pointless inanities rather than discuss what was happening. Or maybe he was giving them too much credit.

"We should find a house or something," Canada said. "Get out of the woods and look for a place that might have supplies."

America peered at his map. "I don't think we're too far from a residential area."

"Can you even read a non-US map?" England said.

"I'm pretty sure this island is part of the US," America said without looking up.

"That's not what I-"

The sound of a gun cocking did a good job of getting their full attention. England's head whipped around to find itself staring down the barrel of a shotgun. He swallowed thickly, and forced himself to instead focus on the figure behind the gun. "Holland? You're participating?"

The tall brunet shrugged minutely. "It's kill or be killed. Nothing personal."

A second gun was cocked, and England's head swiveled again. America had a handgun aimed at Holland's head. "Yeah... drop that, why don't you." He actually _grinned_.

No such luck. Instead, Holland pivoted, shotgun pointing toward the American. "Or you can drop yours."

"Uh, hey," Canada said weakly. "A standoff. Why don't we call it a draw, and we all walk away..." He went ignored.

The two nations narrowed their eyes as they faced off, weapons held rock steady. England's own hands were starting to tremble, just a little. _Don't fire, don't fire..._

Two fingers squeezed triggers, and two guns clicked harmlessly. America and Holland exchanged identical expressions of surprise.

England sagged. "Didn't _either_ of you check to see if the gun was loaded?"

"No..."

"Whatever," Canada said. He grabbed America's wrist with one hand, England's arm with the other, and they ran for it. "I thought I saw you check that before you tucked it away!"

"I did!" America whined. "I was making sure the safety was on..."

"You idiot!"

"At least he did the same thing!"

"No kidding..."

"Shut up and just run!" England said, though he didn't think he heard pursuit. But for all he knew, Holland was only pausing long enough to load his gun...

* * *

"Footsteps!" Germany faced the sound of crunching leaves and aimed his gun that used to be Italy's, eyes narrowed.

"Hey, don't!" Italy protested. "What if it's somebody nice?"

"Then I won't shoot." His aim did not waver as the noises drew near. Italy turned away, hands covering his eyes.

"I am nice! Don't shoot!" Spain stepped out, hands raised. Well, one held a weapon, but it was nothing to worry Germany. "Hey, guys."

"Ohh, Spain!" The northern Italian waved his arms. "Look, Lovi!"

"I see him." Romano scowled at his former 'boss'. Spain was the only one who failed to notice the relief in his eyes. "Bastard, trying to get yourself killed? Germany's trigger-happy, you know."

"I'm a bit more disciplined than that," Germany muttered, only to be ignored.

"Well, you're here," Romano said, "so I guess you may as well stay with us."

"Yay!" Italy hugged his brother (who swatted him away), then Spain.

Spain gave him a smile, and patted his head, keeping his armed hand out of the way. "Do you have a plan yet?"

Germany grunted. "You mean, have we decided whether to be hunters or hiders?" What other strategy was there? Some nations were playing. They _knew_ that already. They could probably guess who would. They could either join in, or run for it, and keep running until time ran out.

"Are those the only options?" Italy asked with a frown. "What about getting everyone together, and figuring out how to get _everyone_ out of here? Then we can all go home!" He looked to Spain, and gasped. "Perfect! Is that your weapon?"

"Uh, yeah." Spain held up the hacksaw. "I guess it would hurt if I whacked someone with it, but sawing them to death might be time-consuming."

"No! I have an idea!" He snagged the saw from Spain, and shoved Romano's head to the ground.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Romano demanded. In response, Italy brought the hacksaw down on his brother's collar. "Oh _hell_ no you aren't! SPAIN!"

"Let's not do that." Spain yanked the saw away.

"To answer your question," Germany said, glaring the Italians into silence, "no, no plans yet. We haven't decided which side to join."

"I'm not killing any nations!" Italy protested, eyes tearing up. "We can't!"

"We have to, to live." Romano elbowed him.

"Including each other!"

There was that, of course. All these friends and couples pairing up, all of them would be faced with a very tough choice in a few days. Assuming they were still around. Germany glanced at Italy's distressed face and wondered what he would do.

Like he even needed to wonder about that.

"We're doing it my way." Italy stomped his foot. "We've got four people, and two weapons-"

"One and a half," Romano muttered.

"-and I bet _lots_ of the others feel the same way. We'll look for allies, and..." He stared at his feet. "And only kill if we _have_ to. And once we've gotten enough of us together, we'll storm the warehouse!"

"And get our collars detonated!"

"We'll work on that in the meantime!"

"Stop arguing!" Germany snapped. "We may as well do it Italy's way for now." He eyed Romano, who glared back. "Unless you're so eager to go on a killing spree."

"That's not what I meant, dammit."

"We'll look for allies. Try for safety in numbers." And kill when they had to. But if someone attacked them, Germany wouldn't hesitate.

* * *

Denmark dumped the load of boards onto the floor with a wide grin. "What luck! I found these on a beach. There was tons of the stuff!"

"At least you're good for something," Norway mused, picking up a board to examine.

"I know, right!"

Their house was better than they had imagined. Two comfy stories and not too many windows, just as they had promised (and with two bedrooms, but they could work that dilemma out later). Fully stocked with food, tools, television... The phones didn't work, but that was to be expected, and nobody's cell phones had been left in their personal bags. How fun it would have been to just give their bosses a call and get this sorted out.

"So we board up the windows," Norway said.

Denmark nodded, brandishing the hammer he had discovered. "Keep enemies out, but with enough gun holes for me to protect us."

"With Iceland's gun."

"Obviously. My weapon is useless. As is yours; what am I supposed to do, fling poison onto an intruder and hope he's got his mouth open?"

Norway shrugged. "The door, too?"

"Yup!" Denmark picked a board up and moved to a window to get started. "Though not so much that we can't easily remove them to escape. Or let somebody in."

"And _then_ what?"

"Eh?"

"If it turns out we're safe in here from anyone out to get us. Then what?"

"Uh...we wait it out."

"Until our collars explode?"

"Hey, we'll think of something by then!" Denmark placed the board across the window and retrieved a nail from his pocket, tongue poking out. "At least we'll live as long and comfortably as possible, instead of short unhappy lives out in the wilderness."

Norway shrugged again.

"I'll fix us something to eat," Iceland offered.

"Yeah, do that!" Denmark hammered away at the nail. "Is there anything in the kitchen besides American food?"

"Um, I'll have to look."

"Is there something good to drink?"

"You are not going near _drink_," Norway said with a roll of his eyes. "We are staying good and sober for the duration of this...thing."

"You're supposed to be our guard," Iceland said, nodding his agreement. "That was your idea."

"I can still kill things after a few beers!" Denmark fumbled out a second nail.

"I'd prefer if it was somebody who wasn't innocent."

* * *

"We invented boards, you know," Korea said as the trio peered down at the pile of lumber they had discovered on the beach.

"Oh, shut up, aru." China gathered up a bundle of the narrow boards. "I'm thinking."

"It won't be much of a boat if we can't fasten them together to be watertight," Hong Kong said.

"Boats have been around for longer than _me_. We'll figure something out, aru."

"Hollow out a tree trunk?" Between the three of them, they had an umbrella, a baseball bat, and a kitchen knife. The thought of fashioning a dugout canoe with only a knife was unpleasant. And it probably required knowledge of the process, anyway...

"Maybe a type of reed or something!" Korea looked around. "To tie them together, I mean."

"A raft tied with plants?" Hong Kong gazed out at the turbulent, white-tipped waves. "I hope land isn't too far."

"I'm more concerned about our collars being too exploding, aru." China lined his boards up in the sand.

"That won't be hard!" Korea chirped. "Electronics were-" The other two glared at him. "-invented in _Asia!_ We can figure them out!"

China eyed the back of Hong Kong's sleek silver collar, lips pursed. "Maybe... we might just be able to, aru. Though I'd prefer practicing on a dead body. But I'm not wandering off to find one, aru."

"Let's take turns," Hong Kong said. "One works on the raft, the other two study each other's collars."

"I want to work on the raft!" Before they could respond, Korea was already jogging off to inspect plants.

"Come here." China hunkered down in the sand, Hong Kong seated in front of him. Brows furrowed in concentration, he touched the collar's fastening. He had never seen such a complex locking mechanism in his long life. "This isn't going to be easy, aru."

* * *

36 nations remaining

* * *

_Wait wait, nobody died? What's up with that!? XD_


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine._

* * *

Hungary marched back and forth near the cave's entrance, gun resting against her shoulder and mouth set in a serious line.

Austria tried hard not to laugh. It was rather cute. But then he was reminded of just where they were, and shuddered. Why had he chosen a cave? It was full of all sorts of horrible things. "I hate the outdoors..."

"Are you complaining again?" Hungary demanded with a hint of amusement. "There's people out there wanting to kill us, and you're freaking out about creepy crawlies."

"I am not."

"There's a spider in your hair!"

"I'm not going to fall for that," Austria muttered, feeling his hair anyway.

"This was your idea, anyway. There's houses around, you know."

"And that's where everyone else is going to want to go," Austria said, tugging his personal bag closer. "Who's going to want to hide in this nasty place?"

"What are you looking for?"

Austria tugged a tiny keyboard out of the bag and turned it on. He hadn't thought to change the batteries before the meeting, he hoped it lasted.

Hungary sighed as music filled the cave. _That_ was helpful for hiding. She kept her gun at the ready, expecting visitors any minute.

* * *

Prussia was a little concerned. His clothes remained on, his ass remained unpinched, and his vital regions hadn't even been checked out.

France seemed to be losing it. The stress of the situation coupled with everybody but his awesome friend abandoning him seemed to have broken something in his cranium. Prussia kept eyeing the sickle in France's hands, waiting for the right moment to yoink it before he ended up on the receiving end.

"I think they went this way," France said, staring at the ground.

"What makes you think that?" Prussia asked, humoring him.

"Just a feeling. Big brother knows!"

"Right, of course." Searching for France's missing 'family' was hardly near the top of Prussia's to-do list as far as staying alive went. He wasn't even sure _why_ France was looking for them, since they were the same ones he bitched about abandoning him! Did he even like England? Maybe the hunt was all a ruse in order to murder his very-very-long-time rival-in-everything once and for all.

"My first plan would have worked out perfectly if that idiot had cooperated!" France said with a dramatic shake of his unarmed fist. He had initially reasoned that, of course America would have a pile of his favorite food with him in his bag, he always took them to meetings! They just needed to follow the wrappers, and where they found America, they would find England, and probably Canada as well. Prussia had to admit that America certainly seemed bright enough to leave a visible trail for any possible enemies to track. But alas, it was not to be, the island seemed free of litter.

"So you've said," Prussia said, eyes once again locked on the sickle.

"I won't let them abandon me!"

"They already have, dumbass," Prussia muttered to himself.

"You won't, right?" France turned, a smile of Russia proportions on his face. The sickle caught the sun _just right_ and glinted.

"Right. Of course." Fuck that. Prussia was ditching the crazy pervert if he turned the crazy up so much as a single notch. And when this was all over, he would _never_ crash a meeting again.

* * *

"I thought you said we were almost to a residential area," England said, digging in his bag to find his own map.

"We are!"

"That's the third time we've passed that tree!"

"It's a _tree_, they all look alike!"

"I don't know _why_ I've been following you..."

A gunshot rang out, and from behind the bickering pair came Canada's cry of pain. America whirled around, panic bubbling in the pit of his stomach. "Mattie! You're hit!?"

"No. Just grazed me," Canada said, gripping his bleeding arm.

He'd barely finished his sentence when America took off, ripping his own gun from its hiding place. He crashed into the gunman—Holland—who was busy struggling to reload. "Followed us, huh?" he grated as they tumbled to the ground, America pinning Holland down. "Bad move. Nobody messes with my brother!" He pressed the barrel of the handgun against the Dutch man's forehead, cocking it with a small grin. Holland simply stared up at him with a half-hearted sneer, eyes betraying his fright.

America hesitated, anger fading as he realized what he was doing. Sitting on a fellow nation with a gun to his head, smirking... Not heroic. Not heroic at all.

The hesitation was all Holland needed, swinging the shotgun and slamming it into America's head. He toppled to the side with a startled grunt of pain, cursing his moral dilemma induced pause. He swung his weapon around and pulled the trigger, just as the other man finished reloading. Holland dropped his gun with a scream when the bullet punched through his arm. The next one left a bloody hole between his eyes, and he crumpled to the ground.

America stared at what he had done for what seemed like hours, before his stomach heaved and he turned away to lose a day's worth of rations in the tall grass.

When he returned to his companions, they sighed visibly in relief. "If you survive a shootout, say something," England muttered, tying off the ends of a makeshift bandage of shirt scraps on Canada's arm.

"Sorry."

"Are you okay? Come here."

"I'm fine." America dropped to the ground beside them. He rubbed his head and winced. "Mostly. Just a lump, though."

"You look awfully pale," Canada said.

"Oh." America looked away, unable to meet their gaze. "I killed him... I was supposed to save everyone! I lost it..." He was supposed to be the hero! Could he even call himself that after killing one of them?

England pulled the younger nation into his arms. "He was trying to kill us."

"I know, but...!"

"Hush." It was as if he were a colony again, being comforted after an especially frightening storm. America sighed.

"I guess I've got the Netherlands now. Nice place." He gave a laugh that was tinged with hysteria, and saw the concerned look England and Canada exchanged out of the corner of his eye. "Stop that. I'm not crazy yet. Are you okay, Mattie?"

"Fine," Canada said, glancing at his arm.

"Let's get going, shall we?" The weary-sounding Brit released America and rose, unfolding his map. "I'll be in charge of where we're going."

America wasn't in the mood to argue. He and his twin helped each other to their feet, and they followed after England, comforting each other. America was a little miffed by how quickly they found civilization.

"I could have done that," he said when England threw him an amused look. "We were almost here, weren't we?"

"Of course we were." The trio gazed over the assortment of small homes. "Which one shall we claim?"

* * *

Evening was starting to chill the air, but that had nothing to do with the two nations' trembling. Estonia and Latvia huddled together, wishing they had found somebody else they had trusted to join them, but grateful that at least they weren't completely alone. Their supplies remained unused. Neither felt hungry.

"I hope Liet's okay," Latvia mumbled.

"He's probably fine."

"Should we move?"

"I guess so."

They gathered up their things and began the slow, trembling journey toward... wherever. There was nowhere safe to go, but just hanging out like sitting ducks would get them nowhere.

"It's quiet," Estonia said after a few minutes.

"Isn't that good?"

"It makes me nervous."

"Just the quiet is making you nervous?" Latvia's eyes darted around like they were trying to unscrew from their sockets.

"Hold on a second." Estonia held out a hand, coming to a halt. Latvia stopped as well, swallowing thickly before straining his ears to hear whatever the taller man thought he had heard.

He had no warning, none at all, before something came smashing down on his head, and Latvia knew no more.

Estonia whirled, heart leaping into his throat. "R-Russia!" How could someone his size stay so silent? "Oh god!"

"Hello," Russia said, and brought the pipe down again with terrible force. A pair of cracked, blood-smeared glasses went flying, landing neatly in the grass.

Russia calmly wiped his pipe off on what clean clothing he could find on the bodies. He helped himself to food and water from their bags, and inspected their weapons. The knife he tossed aside, but the lighter might come in handy! Humming, Russia stood with a grace that belied his size, and wandered off to continue his clinical annihilation of nations.

* * *

33 nations remaining


	6. Chapter 6

_Sorry it took a while to update, this chapter just didn't want to get written. -dies- So it's not the best chapter in the world, but more action is to come!_

_Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine._

* * *

Greece finished his 'meal', nose wrinkled. "Those things are terrible." He took a long drink of water, until the bottle was snatched away by Japan.

"Don't drink too much. We have to make everything last."

"You're optimistic about how long we're going to last, at least." Greece yawned, recapping his water after recovering the bottle and stuffing it away. "We're already down by seven..." The first announcement had only recently been broadcast, listing those killed. Greece had honestly thought a bit better of his fellow nations, but apparently none of them were above taking each other out to survive.

"That's seven less that are trying to kill us," Japan said.

"That's one way to look at it."

"I'll mourn the fallen after we get out of here." Japan fiddled with his dagger, digging up grass. "Right now, I'm just worried about..."

"We'll be fine." Greece managed a smile. "So it's official, huh?"

"What is?"

"We're playing?"

"I'm not hunting the others down, if that's what you mean." The short Asian made a brief, disgusted expression. "But if we are attacked, I will not hesitate."

"Well, of course not." Greece sighed. "Then if it comes down to the two of us..."

"If we don't have a plan B by then, we'll just have to decide which of us wants to continue on."

"Great."

Japan smiled grimly. "Don't worry. I won't kill you without your permission."

"Thanks. Same to you. And whoever wins gets to take out the bastards in charge of this."

"Indeed."

Break over, they got to their feet and resumed their trek. They had passed homes, but preferred not to stay in one location and had chosen to remain in the wilderness. For all they knew, the buildings were already occupied, now deathtraps to anyone else who decided to enter.

"Kiku?"

"Yes?"

"If someone else wounds me, maybe you could finish me off. Then you'd get Greece instead of somebody else."

"I could accomplish the same thing by killing the person who killed you."

"If you get Greece, remember to take care of the cats."

"If you're going to continue to be morbid..."

"No..." Greece held his plushie close.

"Well! Look who it is!"

Greece cringed at the familiar voice, not even bothering to turn around and acknowledge the speaker. "Go away."

"Hello, Turkey-san," Japan said politely.

Then it occurred to Greece that it wasn't wise to keep his back to Turkey, and he grudgingly turned.

"I've been looking for someone trustworthy," Turkey said, addressing Japan only. "I'm tired of being on my own in this shithole."

"He's taken," Greece said, inching closer to Japan. "Find your own companion."

Turkey's smile fell. "Beat it, Sleeping Beauty. Japan would rather be with me, of course. What are you going to do to protect him?"

Japan sighed. "I don't need-"

"Oh yeah? Let's see your weapon," Greece said.

"Is _that_ your weapon? A toy?"

"I still haven't seen yours."

Japan took turns scowling at each of them. "Could we please get along for just a couple days?"

"I'm not hanging out with Turkey when our lives are on the line! I wouldn't be surprised if he were playing. I bet he is, he's waiting to turn on us!"

Turkey snorted. "First you wonder how I could possibly kill anyone, now you're accusing me of wanting to kill you. As nice as that sounds..."

"See?" Greece dropped his plushie and grabbed the dagger from Japan.

"Greece-san, don't-"

Turkey just laughed. "Yeah right. Like you'd kill anyone. Listen to Kiku! We can work together-"

"That's just what you'd like!" Greece's eyes narrowed. "And don't call him Kiku."

"Kiku Kiku Kiku," Turkey said. "If you think-" His eyes widened behind his mask, and he slowly looked down. His hands moved toward the dagger hilt suddenly protruding from his stomach.

"Greece-san..." Japan breathed. "You didn't..."

"H-he was trying to trick us," Greece insisted, backing away. "Turkey's the type who'd be participating. He wouldn't want to join us unless he planned to..."

"Damn you..." Turkey groaned, watching as red blossomed across his shirt. He dropped to his knees, before slumping over.

They stared at the body in silence for what felt like forever. Japan was the first to move, kneeling down to retrieve his dagger and wipe it off in the grass. Then he pulled Turkey's fallen bag close and dug through it. "A milk jug."

Greece shook his head, snapping out of the shock that had held him. "What?"

"That appears to be his weapon. A milk jug."

"He still could have turned on us. He'd have turned on me, at least."

"It can't be helped now." Japan stood. He gave Greece a weak smile. "If he had accompanied us, I'd have ended up killing both of you to shut you up."

Greece attempted to smile back. What were they turning into?

* * *

"They couldn't have left me _one gun_?" Switzerland grumbled to himself for the thousandth time. He always went to meetings fully prepared for any eventuality, but apparently whoever had inspected the personal belongings had decided against letting him have an unfair advantage. Which left himself and Liechtenstein armed with a taper candle and a teapot...

"You could probably hurt somebody with the teapot," Liechtenstein soothed. "It's probably a single-use weapon, though, too bad it's not a metal one... And you could take the candle and shove it-"

"_Liechtenstein!_"

"-in their mouth!"

"Oh."

"Then we can get away while they're gagging."

Switzerland heaved a sigh. Seven were dead already. Their killers were out there, they could be anyone, and he was left _unarmed_. They needed to find allies, and fast.

* * *

When she heard footsteps, Seychelles raised her frying pan, trembling. Was _he_ back? Or someone else? Somebody who would be only too happy to kill her? Her eyes narrowed and she forced herself to stand still. She would not go down as a coward. She would not make this an easy kill!

She did not let her guard down, even when she saw who had emerged from the foliage. "What do you want?"

"Nothing!" Ukraine said, trying to hide behind Vietnam. "We didn't know you were here."

"Are you playing or not?" Vietnam asked.

"Only in self-defense," Seychelles said, lowering her pan slightly. "You?"

"Same," Ukraine said. "Only in self-defense. Right, Vietnam?"

The nation in question rolled her eyes. "I guess so. Sure, self-defense."

"We're looking for somewhere safe to hide," Ukraine added. "Do you want to go with us? Safety in numbers..."

"Yeah." Seychelles trotted over to them, though she did not loosen her grip on her weapon. "Your crazy brother tried to kill me earlier!"

"Oh... I'll try and talk to him."

"I wouldn't advise it! Those would be your last words!"

* * *

"Where are we going?" Finland asked.

Sweden shrugged. "Dunno."

Finland held his sword tightly, keeping a wary eye on the surroundings. They had managed to scare off a couple potential attackers (or potential allies). The combined sight of Sweden and an armed Finland had been sufficient to chase others away.

"They're going to get more aggressive," Finland said.

"Yup."

"And we'll have to kill them to survive..."

"Yeah."

"Then one of us has to go."

"Hm."

Finland sighed. "What if I suggested we not play?"

Sweden glanced over at him. "Oh?"

He brandished his sword, then pointed it at Sweden's chest. "I run you through. Then slit my own throat." He scowled at the single raised, questioning eyebrow. "You don't trust me to follow through and kill myself afterward? I'm not playing."

Sweden studied him for a long moment, then finally nodded. "Do it."

Finland swallowed. "You're sure?" He was dooming their countries...

"Yup."

"All right." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"Heeeeey! Look who it is!"

Finland's eyes snapped open. He knew that loud voice... "Denmark?" He turned around, but didn't see anyone.

"Over here! In the house!"

He finally located the correct house with Denmark's help. The windows were boarded, but a blue eye peered through a crack. "What are you guys up to? You looked ready to take Sweden out!"

"Oh... well..." Finland glanced at the taller man beside him.

"Want to come in?"

"Please." Finland gave a relieved smile.

"Okay! Um, hang on. It might take a while to free an opening for you guys."

"All right." So they were safe for now. What they would do when the deadline approached... well... he supposed they would have to worry about that when the time came.

* * *

32 nations remaining


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine._

* * *

Darkness fell over the island, as did an uneasy silence. Groups and pairs of nations hunkered down, taking turns sleeping so that one could always be on the alert. Those who had struck out on their own tried to find hiding spots where they could sleep in relative safety.

It was a long, stressful night. But nobody wanted to face the morning in an exhausted state, so try and sleep they did.

It was almost a relief when morning came, even if it meant they were one day closer to death.

* * *

Whatever magic was encased in the collars really had given them the healing (and dying) ability of a mortal. Canada scowled at the wound along his arm while England was in the middle of changing the bandage. The house they had claimed came with some first aid supplies, much to their relief, and America had doctored him up the previous night. In the morning, America had insisted on cooking breakfast for them using some eggs left in the fridge, leaving England to care for him. America had been quick to volunteer when England had suggested breakfast.

"It should be healed by now."

"It should," England agreed, bandaging him up. "And eight of us shouldn't be dead." The morning announcement had been their alarm clock. Only Turkey had died since the previous one. "At least it isn't infected or anything."

Canada sighed. "Right. Thanks, England." He tried not to flash back to happier times, when England had patched him up after some stupid childish mishap that had probably been his brother's fault.

"Food!" America announced, somehow managing to balance three plates as he stepped out of the kitchen. "I made omelets! Herby omelets. This place has a little herb garden."

It actually smelled rather appetizing. Though after a few of those horrid little bar rations, even England's cooking would have been welcome.

As they sat down to breakfast, Canada studied his brother's face, still keeping an eye out for any signs of... well... something not normal. He had seemed a bit unstable—understandable, really—after being forced to kill Holland. He felt bad for America, who prided himself on being the hero who could get them out of any mess. But if having to save some by killing others was too much for his sometimes fragile psyche and he snapped, they would be in trouble. A _lot_ of trouble.

Of course, Canada had to admit... if _someone_ had to kill him and claim his land... he could do a lot worse than America.

"Stop it," America said around a mouthful of omelet.

"Hm?" Canada shook off unhappy thoughts, looking up.

"You're thinking bad things. Cut it out. I'll get us out of here!" He held his fork up like a sword.

"Oh, right. Sorry."

"And after we eat... I think I saw Twister in the closet!"

Canada swallowed another bite of food. "Like... the game?"

"Or Clue." America grinned. "It'll be fun to pass the time!"

England groaned, but Canada actually smiled. America seemed fine, after all.

* * *

"Breakfast!" Finland set down a plate of toast. "Nothing fancy, I'm afraid."

"Fancy isn't always a good thing." Denmark helped himself to several slices and a generous amount of butter.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing! I'm just saying!"

"You're always just saying," Norway said, pushing the plate away from Denmark before he could take too many.

Denmark frowned. "And what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

Iceland and Sweden exchanged a glance. Nothing much had changed; it was as if they were enjoying a holiday together, rather than boarded up on an island of death. It was rather comforting, really. When Denmark and Norway stopped playfully bickering, they knew it would be time to really worry.

* * *

_Why am I still hanging out with him?_ Prussia thought. _Why am I still with him? Why am I still with him?_ He stared at France with morbid fascination. The normally cheerful, nude and horny nation was sitting (fully clothed, strangely) in the pile of leaves he had used as a bed the previous night, rocking back and forth. He was singing some freaky as shit French lullaby to himself. And the entire time, Prussia was wishing he could just leave, yet something kept him with France. Better still would be to put the fucked up nation out of his misery. Of course, one of the main reasons Prussia stuck around was because France tended to keep a fucking _death grip_ on his sickle. If Prussia couldn't obtain the weapon, he didn't really want to wander off on his own.

"So. Uh. Hey..." He tried to think of some enlightening conversation that would cheer France up. Anything to get him to stop _singing_. It was creeping Prussia out.

Thankfully, the lullaby trailed off. "We'll find them," France said, as if assuring a frightened child.

"Um." Was he still going on about his 'family' ditching him? He hadn't mentioned them since yesterday, Prussia had assumed he was over that. "Yeah. Of course. Great!"

France nodded. He didn't sing again, but he did hum.

_Why am I still with him? Drop that weapon so I can go already, dammit! I totally will not feel bad about abandoning you, really!_

* * *

Germany glanced at Italy, who was starting to droop, and came to a stop. "Tired?"

"No..." Italy said. "I'm tired of _this_." He made a wide gesture, toward the island as a whole, Germany figured.

"We all are," Romano muttered from behind them. "No use complaining."

"At least we haven't had to kill anyone yet," Spain said.

Germany nodded. No enemies, but no allies, either. They had occasionally caught sight of somebody, but those somebodies had fled before their identities could even be discerned. But not running into enemies was more important than finding additional allies. The last thing he needed was for the Italy brothers to go running in the opposite direction...

"I wonder where Japan is," Italy said. "We need to find him. He'll be a good friend."

"I'll keep an eye out for him," Germany said.

"Good!" Italy latched onto his arm, and they resumed their trek.

* * *

Belarus drew in a sharp breath, tucking her gun away. After an entire day of wandering, of avoiding predatory nations, of _looking_, she had found him. At last.

"Brother! Oh, brother, I've found you! It's me! I'm here!" She jogged the rest of the distance between them, ignoring branches that grabbed at her hair and dress, nearly tripping. "Brother?"

The tall figure she was rapidly approaching finally turned, and she came to a halt so quickly she nearly tumbled over. His expression was... less than pleased. "Brother? What is wrong? Now we can be together!"

Russia continued to stare at her, and slowly shook his head. "Go."

Belarus' heartbeat quickened. Go? Leave him? But she'd just _found_ him! "I'm not going anywhere! I've been looking for you all this time! Now we can work together."

"Belarus," he said firmly, leveling her with look that made her blood run cold. "This is your only warning. Tell Ukraine if you see her, too. Run, and don't let me see you again. I won't be merciful next time."

"R-Russia..." she gasped, eyes widening. Was he threatening her? He would kill his own sisters? Even Ukraine, whom he had always favored? Impossible. "I won't leave! Why won't you come to your senses?"

"Is that your decision, then?" Russia said, sounding almost sad. "All right." He hefted his pipe and advanced, face growing expressionless. Belarus took an unconscious step backward, icy fingers of fear starting to grip her heart. He was serious! With trembling fingers, she drew her gun. Could she shoot her beloved brother? Even in self-defense?

She didn't even have a chance to find out. Russia moved with impressive speed, slapping the gun out of her grip with his pipe, breaking some of her fingers in the process. Belarus howled in pain, stumbling back as she gripped her poor hand. She tumbled to the ground just in time, pipe whizzing over her head in a killing swing. Belarus rolled away, struggling to regain her footing, to spot her fallen weapon, anything. She didn't see it, but instead found a nice sturdy branch. It would have to do, even if she couldn't wield it as effectively in the wrong hand. She pushed the pain of broken bones aside, letting adrenaline and fear have control of her body. Russia's shadow fell over her, and she whirled around, slamming the branch into his legs with all the strength she could muster.

With a pained grunt, Russia fell back, but it wasn't enough. If only she had use of both her hands! She could have broken his legs and run, not even having to be the one to deal the killing strike. But sore shins weren't going to put him out of commission any time soon.

"Please, brother," Belarus begged. "Don't do this! I can help you!"

"It makes no difference," Russia said, childish voice as dead as his expression. "Whether I kill you in the end after everyone else is gone, or now, you'll still be just as dead."

"I don't want to kill you!"

"You aren't going to." Russia swung the pipe again, and again Belarus ducked out of the way.

"Russia, please...!"

"Belarus."

She hesitated, branch held before her, trying to look threatening. "What?"

He gave her a chilling smile. "When you die, you will get what you've always wanted. We will become one. Doesn't that make you happy?"

"Yes," Belarus admitted. It was true, that _was_ the upside to being killed by him. "Russia?"

"Hm?"

"The same will happen if I kill you." She gripped the branch in both hands as well as she could, swinging it toward Russia's head during his instant of hesitation. It connected with his head with a horrifying sound and he crumpled to the ground. Blood spread in a puddle around his head. He didn't move.

Belarus let the branch drop, staring at her brother's body, breath coming out in harsh gasps. "I-I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." She dropped to her knees, cradling her injured hand. Was that it? Were they one now? She didn't feel any different... "I'm sorry!" Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she buried her face in her arm. She couldn't do anything besides babble apologies as she cried.

"You're forgiven," a voice whispered in her ear, before the pipe came down and Belarus knew no more.

* * *

"Ow!" China glanced behind himself with a frown. "Just look, you don't need to prod me, aru."

"Sorry!" Korea chirped, and resumed a hands-off study of China's collar. They hadn't made too much headway with figuring out the complicated contraptions, though at least their raft was nearing completion. And it was nice and sturdy, if China did say so himself. But the collars... If they had merely been electronic, China was certain he could have figured it out. The locking mechanisms were complicated, but the trio of Asians were experts on complicated electronics. But magic was involved, too. The combination of the two blended together was just too much to figure out. But they still had time. They could still try.

"Oh! It's you!" a trembling female voice said. The trio turned to watch Taiwan and Thailand emerge onto the beach. They were dirty and shaking and their eyes were filled with wary relief. "Can... can we join you? Is it safe?"

"Remove your weapons first," Hong Kong said, not immediately trusting the newcomers. _Nobody_ could be trusted anymore.

The pair dug into their bags. Thailand sprinkled a handful of colorful barrettes onto the sand, and Taiwan tossed down a hatchet.

"Hey, not bad!" Korea said, grinning. "It'll be nice to have one more decent weapon among us. Welcome aboard! Have a seat!"

They sat down near Hong Kong, who was working on their nearly completed raft. "Are you leaving?" Taiwan asked.

"Hopefully, aru." China turned back away from Korea, letting him continue his inspection. "We've been spending this whole time trying to figure the collars out."

"And...?" Thailand said, hope in his voice.

"Unfortunately, they have a very complex lock with magic worked in. But hopefully we'll be able to get them off before time's up."

"Here, let me take a look." There was some shuffling around behind China, and then delicate fingers touched the back of his neck. "Hmm..."

China sighed as she took over the inspection. Maybe a new set of eyes would shed some light on things. Maybe they'd be able to leave soon...

* * *

31 nations remaining

* * *

_I actually feel sooo bad making Russia into the killing-maching bad guy. -squeezes Russia- Sorry, babe, you're a fun villain to write sometimes._


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine._

* * *

"You _really_ don't have to do this," England muttered, sending a glare in America's direction.

"I do," Canada said. "Now close your eyes, it'll just take a moment."

"This is ridiculous. I can't believe you two." But rather than have the twins bitch at him all day, England closed his eyes and waited. Soon enough, a pair of soft lips pressed against his.

"You can do better than that," America scoffed from the sidelines. "Let's see some tongue."

It was really disturbing that America was _enjoying_ this. But at least with Canada it was easy enough to just pretend it was America. His brain decided to ignore the creepy fact that they kissed alike.

"That's enough," England said, pushing Canada away. The boy's face was flushed; great. "Leave me out of this from now on."

"Well, your turn again," Canada said, turning back to his brother. "Truth or dare?"

"Nations are dying out there," England said to himself, turning away in disgust as America chose truth that time. But, he supposed, it was probably better that they occupy themselves to try and stay sane. Couldn't they occupy themselves with a less stupid game, though?

"Of the nations here," Canada said slowly, "who all have you slept with?"

Okay, England was officially tuning out. He snatched up a book he had borrowed from whoever the homeowners were and tried not to hear the list. It was kind of hard, what with Canada exclaiming over various revelations. Especially with the alarmed cry of "Seriously, _Russia_?"

"If you two don't stop, I'm going to take my chances outside!"

"But I want to hear Canada's list," America protested.

"Fine, just do it quietly." England focused intently on the book and tried once again to ignore them. It was almost strangely peaceful, bringing back memories of him trying to ignore them when they were playing some annoying game as colonies. Thus the afternoon passed in relative peace.

* * *

"Like, this is _totally_ the wrong way. Oh my _god_, let me pick the direction."

Lithuania ran a hand through his tangled hair. They had been wandering aimlessly through the woods, running at the slightest noise, for what felt like a month. They had barely slept the previous night, too scared to even take turns watching over one another. They just kept on the move, hungry and exhausted and paranoid.

"We are not going in the wrong direction," Lithuania croaked. He needed a drink. He would have to pause for at least long enough to dig in his bag. "We _can't_ go in the wrong direction. We don't have a _destination_."

"Tch." Poland crossed his arms. "You have been _so_ much meaner since we got here."

"I'm sorry," Lithuania mumbled. "I'm just...stressed." Was Poland really wondering why he wasn't in the best of moods?

"Well hey! It'll be okay. I mean, we've survived this long running away!" Poland grinned. "It's, like, the Italy survival guide! We just keep running away until there's only one other left!"

"And then?"

"And then... I'll blow his head off!" Grinning, Poland paused. "Huh..."

"What?" Lithuania's heart leaped into his throat. "Did you hear something? We should keep moving..."

"I thought I heard something," Poland agreed. "So, like, run!" He grabbed for Lithuania's hand, and the pair took off through the trees, narrowly avoiding branches and other such obstacles. The only sound was the crunching of leaves and twigs beneath their feet, and the harsh panting of their breath. Poland nearly went down, but Lithuania hauled him to his feet and they continued on. He himself was not so lucky, tripping over a stupid log and tumbling to the ground, taking Poland down with him.

"Oww..."

"Dude, Liet, not cool, man." Poland rubbed his knee, then plucked a leaf from his hair. "_Ew_!"

"Oh no," Lithuania breathed.

"Nah, it's okay, I got it out." Poland held the leaf up. "See? All better now. Oh, hey, you look freaked..." Poland turned back toward the log that had tripped Lithuania and gasped. It wasn't a log at all. It was a body. "Estonia!"

"Estonia..." Lithuania repeated, crawling closer to the body. "Eduard..." His bloody hair was plastered to his head, more blood staining the grass around him. So much blood...

"Latvia, too," Poland groaned, pointing. The smaller Baltic was sprawled not far away, his head in much the same state as Estonia's. "Who did this?"

"Who else?" Lithuania breathed. "It was him. It was him!"

Poland nodded. "Well, like, with the male to female ration, it stands to reason it was a him, so-"

"It had to be Russia!" Lithuania went on, ignoring Poland, voice rising a few octaves. "He would be playing. He would use a blunt object..."

"That doesn't mean it had to be him," Poland said, eyeing Lithuania nervously.

Lithuania shook his head vigorously. "It was him! And now they're a part of him, just like he wanted!" He finally tore his eyes away from Estonia's crushed skull. Poland backed away slightly. "I don't want to be with him again..."

"We won't!" Poland said. "I told you. I'll totally shoot anyone who tries to kill us!"

"I won't let him get you, either!"

"Oh, hey, awesome." Poland backed away further. His eyes flicked down to Lithuania's hand, which was tightening around the knife that had lay in the grass near the bodies. "Yeah, if we see Russia, we'll waste his ass. Um, so, stay back, Liet, you're freaking me out..."

"He won't have Lithuania!" He gripped the knife and pounced, wrestling Poland to the ground. "He won't have Poland!"

"Get off!" Poland shrieked, shoving at Lithuania. "Oh my god, get off, he won't have me, you don't have to-" His screams cut off with a choked gasp when Lithuania dragged the knife across his throat. He opened his mouth to scream in pain as he watched the blood from his own severed arteries spray into Lithuania's face. All that came out was a weak gurgle. Eyes wide with shock, Poland went limp in the grass.

"You're safe," Lithuania murmured, tossing the knife aside. "Poland's mine. Soon they won't belong to anybody..." He took the gun from Poland's bag and pressed the muzzle to his temple. "Nobody will have us!" The gun went off, and Lithuania crumpled to the ground.

* * *

Their raft was looking good, China decided. He gave it another once-over (if it could be called a once-over after the hundredth time), and nodded his approval. Once they succeeded in removing their collars, they would be able to safely leave. He glanced over his shoulders at the rest of the group. Taiwan and Thailand were taking a nap, while Hong Kong and South Korea worked on each other's collars, along with their newest ally.

China pursed his lips as he watched the trio. He did not trust the newcomer too much. He had just wandered in, looking innocent and lost, begging to join them, looking like he was about to cry as he described the other nations shunning him, not trusting him.

And China, too, found it hard to trust him. On the other hand, was Russia that good of an actor? China watched a bit longer, at Russia peering closer at Korea's collar, lips pursed in concentration. He tentatively touched it, said something to Hong Kong, who shook his head.

It was almost... peaceful. A day at the beach. China was almost ready to join the napping pair, to stretch out in the early evening sun and fall asleep. He wandered closer to the others to see how everything was going.

"I do not think they can be removed," Russia said with a sigh, unfolding his long legs and standing. "Ah well..."

"We aren't giving up!" Korea said, folding his arms. "We're going to stay here and keep working on it."

"You do that," Russia said. "I'm going to win." He reached into his coat, and China knew he had been right. They were screwed.

Taiwan and Thailand, still peacefully asleep, had no idea what hit them. One moment they were napping, the next they had bullet holes in their heads. Korea and Hong Kong scrambled to their feet, screaming, but another couple shots from the gun sent them both tumbling to the sand. Hong Kong clutched at his leg, wailing, trying desperately to keep moving, to crawl away.

"It was a good effort," Russia said calmly as he stepped closer, kneeling down and wedging the muzzle of the gun into Hong Kong's mouth. "I'd have taken an alternate route to get out of here. But I do not think it's possible." He pulled the trigger, and China looked away. But why couldn't he run? He was frozen to the spot. The only sound now was Korea's whimpering. China didn't even see how Korea met his end. There was a solid, meaty thunk, and the whimpering came to an abrupt end.

China was the only one left. He had to get out of there! He finally forced aside the paralyzing shock, turning and running for it, adrenaline fueling him on. He had to run. But why? The others were dead! What would he do now?

There was another gunshot, behind him. Mercifully far behind, Russia wasn't closing in on him. China stumbled, burning pain searing through his shoulder. He picked himself up, and didn't stop running. He was moving on instinct alone, the images of his companion's dead bodies seared into his eyelids whenever he tried to close his eyes.

He didn't have a plan, a destination, or anything. He didn't even stop to tend to his bleeding wound. China just ran.

* * *

"Did you hear that?" Canada's eyes had grown even wider.

"We're not deaf," America mumbled. The announcement had said twenty five left. How had they dwindled so quickly? Lithuania... he had been so nice to America! And so many of the Asians... but not Japan? Had Japan been the perpetrator? Wait, that bit of logic made no sense.

"Forty to twenty five in such short time," Canada said, staring at the floor. "Are we so easily capable of killing each other?"

America stiffened. "Sometimes it can't be avoided."

"Oh!" Canada's hand flew to his mouth. "I wasn't talking about you! No, no, self-defense is understandable... But I don't think all of those murders were in self-defense."

"No. They're playing." America sniffed at the air.

"What is it?"

"I smell..." His nose wrinkled. "Oh lord. I smell food. And since you and I are both here..."

Canada grimaced. "I'll go help him." He raced off to the kitchen.

America dropped onto the couch with a groan, letting his eyes drift closed. He wasn't even especially hungry, it was probably late enough to be bedtime. And then, come noon tomorrow, they would be down to the final twenty four hours.

He shifted, reaching for the bag he knew was near his feet. There was an abrupt _whumpf_, and America jerked around to find a water pipe planted in the pillow he had been resting his head on seconds before. "Oh, damn..." He snatched up his bags, no time to dig in them for a weapon as Russia brought the pipe up again. "How the hell did you even get in?" America made a face. "Sneaky bastard. I'm losing my touch..."

"Seems so," Russia agreed. He swung, and America dodged again.

"As are you, though! Seriously, sneaking up on me?" America shook his head as he backed away. "_Bad_, Russia."

"My apologies." Russia sprang forward like a snake.

"Intruder!" America hollered, scrambling away. "Get the hell out! Now!" He heard the kitchen door (thank god for kitchen doors!) slam shut. With a grin of relief that at least those two had escaped, America turned and ran for it, flinging the front door open and tearing out. Luck continued to favor him, as he encountered England and Canada shortly and they ran together.

They didn't stop running until they were quite certain they had lost Russia (assuming he had chased after them in the first place). By then, they had no idea where they were, or what the hell they were going to do next.

* * *

"Who's there?" Hungary demanded. She felt naked making such a demand unarmed, but it had been Austria's turn to guard them so he was the only one aiming a weapon at the potential intruder. The bushes close to the entrance of their cave were rustling in a way that definitely seemed to suggest someone was causing it. "Friend or foe?" she added.

"Please..." a weak voice wheezed from the bushes, as a figure crawled out. "Please... water? I'm thirsty..."

"Who is..." Hungary peered closer, trying to make out the injured nation in the dark. "China?" She stepped closer, not fearing the poor thing in his state.

She probably should have. China spooked, and Hungary found herself facing a gun. How had he moved so quickly, weakened as he was? "Wait!" Hungary protested. "China, it's okay. We have water. And we can get you patched up. How long have you been hurt?"

"How can I trust you?" China demanded.

"Weren't you the one who came to _us_?" Austria said, his own gun aimed at China, who moved slightly to point his weapon back at Austria. "You're the one who pulled a gun on Hungary when she went to help you. How can _we_ trust _you_?"

"We can't trust anyone!" China said, voice growing stronger. "It was a mistake trusting him, aru. You aren't like him... are you?"

"I don't know. Probably not."

They remained still, guns wavering slightly but never leaving their target. Hungary looked back and forth between the two, biting her lip. "Drop them. Both of you. We aren't enemies here."

Austria flicked a glance toward Hungary, quickly focusing his gaze back toward China, and the barrel of China's gun. "Yes. Of course." He slowly lowered his own gun. They both did. Sort of. They clearly did not trust each other, hesitating.

Hungary stared at them, licking her lips as sweat trickled down between her shoulder blades. Did nobody trust anybody anymore? No, of course not. Why would they? "Drop the guns. On the count of three, okay? One..."

That was as far as Hungary got. She had no idea who made the first move, what caused them both to instantly lose whatever miniscule trust they had gained, but two shots rang out. They were fired so close together as to be nearly simultaneous. Both nations went down.

With an anguished cry, Hungary rushed to Austria's side. "Hold on! Just hold on!" She rolled him over, hunting frantically for the wound in the dark, to see how bad it was. But it didn't take long to discern that he was already dead.

Hungary collapsed onto Austria's chest, shoulders shaking with her sobs. She might have stayed there all night, had she not heard another sound in the nearby bushes. Hungary temporarily pushed aside her grief, fueling herself with rage as she snatched up first their gun, then yanking the other from China's grip. Eyes narrowed, Hungary stalked off, away from their cave.

* * *

23 nations remaining


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine._

* * *

"Good morning," Finland said with a yawn and a stretch as he walked into the living room of their boarded up house. "What are you doing?"

"Playing poker," Denmark said with a one-shouldered shrug. "There's food in the kitchen. Nothing exciting."

Finland eyed the circle of nations. "What are you playing for?" He silently prayed that it was not strip poker.

"This!" Denmark held a bottle up reverently. "Bourbon! We found it hidden away in a little hidey-hole of the owner's. God bless Americans and their shame at their alcoholism. We're playing for shots."

Finland glanced over at Sweden, then quickly joined the other Nordics. "I'm in."

Sweden frowned at them. "S'early."

"It's around nine in the morning," Norway said, staring intently at his cards. "That means we have twenty seven hours to live."

"At the most," Iceland sighed.

Denmark nodded. "Someone with an axe and a bunch of guns could chop their way in ten minutes from now. I've got booze, and I'm gonna enjoy it!"

"Hm." Sweden sat down beside Finland. "I'm in."

So they played, enjoying what was probably the last drink of their lives, chatting about random nonsense as if it were any normal day. As everyone laughed at a particularly stupid comment by Denmark, Finland smiled, and decided that—with everyone else out in the wilderness fleeing for their lives, terrified, alone—his possible last day on earth could have been spent a whole lot worse.

* * *

Greece's first thought when he opened his eyes was _Oh, shit..._ He had fallen asleep, back-to-back with Japan. He glanced over his shoulder, relieved to see the other nation still sleeping, chin to chest. Greece heaved a sigh. They had been taking turns sleeping, the other keeping watch. Greece's last turn as the guard had obviously failed.

Oh well. They hadn't been murdered in their sleep. No harm, he supposed. In fact, a bit more sleep sounded good. Greece glanced around, but saw no sign of anyone else. He didn't have much time left, and wanted to spend it doing what he enjoyed.

Besides. If he had to die, he would prefer to do it in his sleep.

That decided, Greece settled back against Japan—who was starting to stir, anyway—and let his eyes drift shut. Soon he was again dreaming of sunny skies over ancient ruins.

* * *

"It's my turn!"

"Not it isn't!"

"Yes it is!"

"_Idiota!_"

"Ve~ Germany!"

"SHUT UP!" Germany ran a hand through his unkempt hair. "I swear, it's like traveling with children! If you don't knock if off, _I'll_ take the MP3 player."

Spain nodded. "If you two keep fighting, we'll turn this car around and-"

"You shut up, too!"

Spain shrugged. He flopped onto the pile of leaves he had fashioned, tugging out one of his water bottles. "Just trying to lighten the mood. Come sit with me, Romano!"

But Romano had already turned his "weapon" on, bobbing his head while smirking at his brother. Then his face fell. "Goddammit! You stupid thing!" He yanked the headphones off and glared at the player. "It died... fuck me..."

Germany pinned Spain with a glare, silently ordering him to not make any additional commentary.

"Stop yelling!" Italy whined. "It's bad enough we have to worry about everyone else!"

"We haven't even had to deal with anyone," Romano muttered. "Nobody alive, anyway."

Italy shuddered. "Don't remind me!"

"I know what will make everyone feel better." Spain yawned. "Early siesta!"

Germany groaned as the brothers readily agreed and started to strip. "No!" he barked. "Napping is not the—oh, whatever, you aren't listening." He kept Italy's handgun close by (and Spain's hacksaw as well, for the hell of it), and kept watch, trying to ignore the growing migraine.

* * *

"I miss our house!" America whined.

"We know," England said, running a hand down his face.

"You've said before," Canada added, unnecessarily. He missed the house, too, but on the bright side, they had all thought to grab their bags in their quick dash to escape. He and England hadn't even questioned America's warning—as soon as they had heard him hollering about an intruder, they had snatched up their things and ran right out the kitchen door. They hadn't even stopped to worry about leaving America alone with whoever the intruder was until after their escape, and that was only a second before America himself rejoined them, grumbling about Russia.

"It's not like we could have stayed there forever," England said.

"I know, but still..." America sighed. "Wandering around out here sucks." He stomped harshly onto a twig, snapping it. "I should have fought him!"

"With your weapon tucked safely away?" England said. "Don't fight Russia unarmed."

"I could take him unarmed!"

"Of course you could, dear."

"Quiet!" Canada hissed, reaching out to jerk both of them to a halt. "I see someone."

They both looked in the direction Canada pointed. Sure enough, in a nice sunny grassland ahead, they could make out three figures walking together, all female. Some more female than others.

"Ukraine!" America said. "And..." He peered closer. "Vietnam. Seychelles." He looked back at his companions with a grin. "Well, they wouldn't hurt us!"

"Oh yes," Canada said, "Vietnam's a pussycat."

"Well she's hanging out with Ukraine and Chelles! Let's group up with them."

"Ladies would be a nice change from only having you two to hang out with," England mused.

America gave him a half-hearted glare, then raised his arm in a wave, opening his mouth to call out. Canada quickly tugged him back, though, shushing him.

"What?"

"I see somebody else..." Canada whispered.

"Who?" Once again America and England strained to see what Canada had noticed—another figure, much bigger than the trio of girls (who seemed to be arguing about something), carefully following them. "Wait, that looks like...!" America jerked out of Canada's grip, digging out his weapon.

Canada did as well. He flicked out his knife, swallowing. "Let's go."

"Hey!" America yelled at the three unsuspecting nations. "Look out!"

The sound of gunfire filled the air. All three girls went down, before America and Canada even had time to start running.

"No...!" America stared at the trio of bodies collapsing to the earth. "No! _Russia_!"

Hearing them, Russia disappeared back into the trees. Before anyone could stop him, America took off after him.

"Wait!" Canada cried, gaping in shock. He moved to follow, but England grabbed his arm. "What are you doing?"

"We don't need all of us getting lost," England said, voice sounding a lot calmer than his expression looked.

"We're just letting him _go_?"

"He won't listen to us. Or wait for us." England bit his lip, staring at the ground.

Canada stared in the direction his brother had gone. The way he had raced off, they _wouldn't_ have been able to catch him. "He'll be okay... right?"

"Of course," England said, his words not especially comforting due to the overwhelming worry in his eyes. "He's a hero."

* * *

A low grumble startled France, who whirled around in alarm, sickle gripped as tightly as ever.

"Settle down!" Prussia cried, scurrying back. "That was my _stomach_! Damn!"

France stared vacantly at him for a second, then turned back around and resumed his trek. Shuddering, Prussia continued to follow. He tugged a bite of ration bar out to munch on, hopefully alleviating further noises. He could have killed for some wurst or something. Or a beer. He would have let France violate him with the sickle for a nice cold beer. He bet his brother was thinking the same thing—well, maybe not the _same_ thing, but something similar, and of course he was fine. Prussia wasn't hugely worried about West. If anyone could take care of himself, it was him! He would be a much preferred companion, too. Prussia would have to seek him out once he acquired France's weapon and got the hell away.

He wasn't even sure what France's mission was anymore. He hadn't mentioned his "family" in quite a while. Prussia didn't particularly want to ask and find out. He still wasn't convinced France wasn't seeking out his family to kill them. Poor crazy bastard.

Okay, so he didn't want to ask France about the ones who may or may not have triggered his crazy, but the silence was driving _him_ nuts and he had to talk about something. France always mostly ignored him, anyway. "So. We're down to the low twenties, huh? That's crazy. Almost half. At least Germany hasn't been on the list. But he's pretty awesome, he would kick ass."

"You think he's been killing the others?" France said, startling Prussia. Oh, so he did want to chat.

"I don't know. Uh, maybe? Probably only in self-defense! Don't you think?"

France just shrugged. "I can see him playing. I can picture him firing a gun at England, the hot lead tearing through skin and tendons, punching holes in organs, breaking bones..."

"Mein _gott_, France!" Prussia cringed.

"Or maybe he has a knife. Maybe he wants to stab Canada, blade cutting through him like pâté, severing—"

"Okay, okay! I get the point!" So he was still thinking about them. Juuust lovely.

"I cannot picture him killing America," France mused, voice almost in a sing-song. "So America would kill _him_. He would probably use a gun. Or maybe a baseball bat, he is fond of baseball. Swinging it and—"

"Fuck, France, if you don't shut up _right now_...!"

To his surprise, France stopped talking.

"France?" a tiny voice said. "Is that you? And Prussia?" A petite girl stepped closer, trembling. "Are you playing?" She eyed the sickle in France's hands with trepidation.

"Nah." Prussia shot a glare at France. "We're not playing. Hello, Liechtenstein."

She nodded in greeting. "Brother, he says they aren't playing."

"I'm _sure_ they'd tell the truth about that," Switzerland muttered, joining his sister, distrust in his eyes as he watched the pair.

"Are _you_ playing?" France asked, taking a step back. Prussia glared at him again, then winced. France actually looked kind of scared. Who would be scared of _those_ two?

"Of course we're not!" Liechtenstein took a step closer, despite Switzerland's hissed warning, arms raised peacefully.

"Stay back!" France cried, holding his weapon before him.

"Man, not awesome!" Prussia said, wanting to pull France away but not willing to get close to him. "She's a cute little unarmed girl!"

"Stay back," France repeated. Shying away from him, Liechtenstein instead moved closer to Prussia, who gave her an apologetic smile.

France sprang suddenly, startling everyone. "Get away from him! He's my only friend, don't hurt him!"

Liechtenstein shrieked as the sickle's curved blade sank into her back. The weapon made an even more horrid sound as it was tugged out, and the girl fell. France brought the sickle down again on her twitching form, and her body jumped one last time then stilled, blood spilling down her chin. Switzerland had, of course, jumped on France, screaming, the instant his sister had gone down. He too received the sickle's blade, tumbling to the ground while clutching at the gaping wound in his stomach.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Prussia cried, dimly realizing that he was probably next but unable to stop himself. "They weren't going to hurt us!"

To his surprise, France did not try to kill him. He stood, staring down at the siblings, chest heaving. For a moment, the only sounds were France's panting and Switzerland's agonized cries. "They... they weren't, were they..."

"_You killed them!_"

France turned toward Prussia, expression melting into one of horror. Prussia could almost _see_ the last lingering thread of his sanity snap. "No..." And he finally did what Prussia had been waiting for the entire time—he dropped the fucking sickle. "No..." France turned back toward the pair on the ground, on the dead girl and dying boy. He took a tentative step toward Switzerland. Prussia inched closer to the weapon.

"F-fuck you," Switzerland gasped as France knelt down beside him.

"I'm so sorry," France said. And the crazy fuck actually reached down and _caressed_ Switzerland's cheek, smearing blood around. "So sorry. Come here..."

"G-go awa-way."

"G_rand frère_ will make it better..." Prussia hadn't thought he could possibly be more horrified, but he managed as France leaned over to kiss Switzerland's bloody lips, hand sliding up his shirt. Switzerland struggled as well he could, trying to push the other man away, but was far too weak.

_Leave! Come on, Gil, leave!_ But Prussia found himself frozen on the spot, staring at the train wreck that was unfolding. No... this was much worse than a train wreck.

Murmuring almost entirely in French now, France crawled onto Switzerland, straddling him, either ignoring or not even noticing the cries of pain that caused. He continued to kiss him, and Prussia wished the poor dying nation would at least _bite_. If he did, France didn't notice that, either, and worked a hand into Switzerland's pants. Prussia sagged in relief when Switzerland went limp, mercifully dying before he could be fucking _raped_. And to Prussia's even greater relief, France seemed to realize he was dead and rolled off of him. Oh good, no necrophilia, either.

Prussia didn't wait to see what France would do next. He turned, gory sickle gripped tightly, and fled.

* * *

18 nations remaining


	10. Chapter 10

_I've actually got the majority of rough drafts for the rest of the story done. Sooo, future updates shouldn't take long for the rest of this thing. :D … This fic should not be fun to write. What the hell is wrong with me? XD_

_Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine._

* * *

Yeah... Russia had definitely gotten away. After running after him for a while, America had finally given up, and turned around to return to the others.

That hadn't worked so well either. Especially since he was no longer certain he was even traveling in the right direction, with no landmarks or anything to go by. And how long had he been gone? It was doubtful they had remained behind and waited, anyway.

"Damn trees!" America leveled a kick at one of the offending pines, which would have uprooted it had his normal strength been intact. "Now what?" Fucking Russia. Thanks to him, America was lost and alone, the mental image of Russia coldly and efficiently gunning down his own sister burned into his brain.

* * *

It was turning out to be a pleasant afternoon. Finland had made himself at home on the bed he had claimed for himself the other day, in one of the upstairs bedrooms, book in hand. The lady(?) of the house had a vast collection of romance novels, and it was either that or cookbooks. So Finland read about just how much the heroine hated the man she had recently met, as if readers were going to be fooled into thinking they wouldn't end up together.

Sweden sat nearby on the floor, printer paper scattered before him, pencil in hand. He was sketching drawings of the dog and child they had left back home—and oh, they were so grateful Sealand was not recognized as a country, and was not at the meeting! If he had come anyway, like Prussia had...

Best not to think about it. Sealand hadn't snuck into the meeting, he was safe, and someone else would care for him and the dog.

Raucous laughter reached his ears from somewhere down the hall, and Finland smiled, wondering what the others were up to. Probably something stupid that had originated from Denmark. He'd have to go see what was so amusing, once he reached a good stopping point. He breathed in deep and returned to the novel.

Finland wrinkled his nose. What was _that_? He took another breath through his nose, scowling.

"Hm?" Sweden said, glancing over.

"It stinks," Finland said. "Like..." Another breath. His eyes widened. "Like smoke!" He tossed the book aside and scrambled out of bed, Sweden right behind him as he raced for the stairwell. The smell of smoke increased, as did the sound of the roar of fire.

Finland froze at the base of the stairs, gaping down at the nightmare below. Flames licked at the curtains, danced along the couch. A wave of heat hit his face at the same moment as a cloud of smoke and Finland coughed, backing away. "We have to get out of here." He turned, running back down the hallway. "Fire!"

"What?" Denmark's head poked out from a door at the end. "Fire? Where?"

"The whole living room!" Finland said. "What did you do? Leave candles going?"

"Me?" Denmark shook his head, sniffing the air curiously and wrinkling his nose.

"Was something left plugged in?" Norway asked, shoving out past Denmark. They had been thrilled to find that appliances still worked, even if phones and internet didn't. Had it come back to bite them in the ass?

"No," Sweden said. "Nothin' plugged in."

As one, they spun around as a crash came from the bedroom window. "What the hell?" Denmark exclaimed. He stooped over, picking up the rock that had been flung through the window. They hadn't put as much effort into boarding up second story windows, leaving plenty of gaps.

"Why would..." Finland trailed off as something else was tossed in, through the hole the rock had made. Whoever was throwing things at them had good aim. He watched in open-mouthed horror as the flaming bottle smashed to the floor, its liquid contents bursting into flame. The group ran from the room with cries of alarm.

"We have to get the hell out!" Denmark said, barging into Iceland's room. "Out of the way! We're going out the window!"

"What's going on?" Iceland demanded.

"Some jackass is tossing in molotov cocktails!" Denmark grasped one of the couple boards nailed over the window and tugged. "The first floor's on fire and this one's about to be."

Iceland bowed his head. "I see..."

"We're not giving up yet!" Denmark flung the first board aside and started on the second. "Just give me a moment." If they hadn't boarded themselves in, they could have run downstairs, avoided the flames, and out the door.

"Whoever it is will be waiting for us..." Norway said.

"So we'll kill him," Finland said. "There's five of us, we've got a couple weapons."

"Right!" Denmark finally shoved the window open and leaned out. He slowly leaned back in, turning with a grim expression. "Fuck..."

"A two story fall won't kill you!" Norway snapped.

"It might..."

The other four gathered closer to the window, looking out. The ground was now covered in spikes—somebody had driven wooden stakes into the earth surrounding their house. They exchanged horrified looks. They were trapped in their house...

"No way." Norway pushed them aside, easing one leg over the windowsill. "It's either burn or suffocate to death in here, or _maybe_ impale ourselves. I'll take the maybe."

Denmark grabbed his arm, blue eyes wide with fright. "No way!" he repeated. "Don't you fucking dare!"

Norway jerked his arm away, almost losing his balance and toppling out the window. "Better than just giving up and dying in here. I'll get rid of the stakes. Then the rest of you can follow."

Denmark grabbed him again—no, he was just placing a hand on his shoulder, looking sad. Norway placed a hand atop Denmark's, smiling at him. Finland coughed again, and Norway grimaced and turned. "Here I go." He took a deep breath and pushed himself over the edge. The others looked away, unable to watch or breathe.

A wail of pain told them it had not been a successful endeavor. Finland buried his face in Sweden's chest, tears spilling down his cheeks. He had known Norway wouldn't make it. He had_ known_! They had been happy—as happy as possible, anyway—just a few moments ago. How could everything have changed so quickly?

Denmark and Iceland were at the window, staring down and shouting. Finland didn't want to look. He could still hear Norway's whimpers and cries of pain. Finland shuddered. He jerked upright with a gasp at the sound of gunfire from below. Norway's cries abruptly stopped.

"_Stóri bróðir_!" Iceland wailed, calling miserably for his brother.

"Who?" Sweden demanded hoarsely.

Denmark slowly shook his head, expression murderous. "Didn't see..."

"Wh-what do we do...?" Iceland said, finally pulling his eyes away from the window. Nobody had an answer. And then another flaming bottle sailed through the window and they fled, scattering throughout the second floor. The fumes from the inferno below choked them, the roar of the flames growing closer. Finland found himself in another bedroom (big family? Guest room?), huddling on the bed, trembling. Norway was dead, and they were trapped. He had known they would be dead by tomorrow, but to suddenly be confronted by death...

A scream came from down the hall. Finland couldn't discern who it was. He curled up tighter, feeling helpless. Maybe they should have stayed outside, where their enemies would be flesh and blood, people they could fight, where they weren't sitting ducks. Maybe he and Sweden should have gone through with their suicide, died quickly and cleanly.

A not-too-distant crash made Finland jump. Another scream. He closed his eyes and wished he could wake up. Something smashed into his side and he yelped, eyes snapping open, and he only had a second to realize it was one of the flaming bottles before the pain struck him as the burning liquid spread over him, clothes bursting into flame. Finland shrieked, stumbling back. He flung himself to the floor, rolling, but the fire clung to him. It spread around the room, eating at the furniture and at him. Finland screamed, throat raw as it was seared. His nostrils filled with the smell of smoke and cooking meat, his flesh charring and splitting. Other screams reached his ears. He was dimly able to make out Sweden's cry of pain, and possibly calling his name, before Finland collapsed and his consciousness fled.

* * *

England's eyes snapped open. When had he fallen asleep? Where... oh. He had no time for the disorientation that midday naps frequently caused, seeing as how a man was standing over himself and the still-sleeping Canada, weapon raised.

England reacted without thinking, diving into their attacker's legs and taking him down. They tumbled to the grass, England scrambling for the weapon, but the other man was able to keep it away.

"Get off me!" the attacker growled.

England made another grab for the weapon. "Prussia?"

"I wasn't going to hurt you!"

"The hell you weren't!" They both rolled to their feet. Prussia stepped closer to England, so he took a few additional steps away, further from Canada, who was rousing from his sleep. Canada... "You bastard! You were his _friend_! How _could_ you?"

"What?" Prussia glanced toward Canada. "Of course we're friends! That's why I was standing guard, I saw that the two of you had fallen asleep, and-"

"Yeah right!" As if England would believe a flimsy excuse like that. He had _seen_ the raised weapon...

"What's going on?" Canada gazed blearily around, eyes finally falling on the pair. He gasped. "Prussia!"

"It's not what it looks like!"

Canada reached a hand toward his bag—going for his knife, England realized. He obviously didn't believe Prussia, either, seeing as how he was confronting England with a bloodstained sickle. "How _could_ you?" he demanded, echoing England.

"For fuck's sake! I wasn't trying to kill you!"

"Who _else_ have you killed?" England demanded, inching further away from Canada, trying to draw Prussia away. He didn't want the boy getting involved if he didn't have to.

"No one! This wasn't originally my weapon!"

"Whose was it, then?"

"Ah..." Prussia looked back and forth between them, chewing on his lower lip. He was unable to come up with a lie.

"Right." England continued to edge away, pleased that Prussia followed. His eyes flickered back toward Canada. He had to lure their attacker elsewhere. He'd be _damned_ if he was going to let some goddamned former country try and kill one of _his_ boys. What could he say to convince Prussia to chase him? Some clever insult, something from the days of Captain Kirkland that would enrage Prussia and leave him no choice but to want only England dead. "You can't catch me, you stupid wanker." Okay, so it had been a while. But England turned and ran, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Prussia followed. He did.

"England! Wait!"

England didn't. He did not rest until they were a safe distance away. Once assured that Canada, at least, was out of danger, England stopped and whirled to confront his attacker.

"I can't believe you just left him—oh, _fuck it_," Prussia snarled. "I am _so sick_ of dealing with your crazy shit! Your whole fucked up 'family' is mad! I've put up with it enough!"

England had no idea what the hell Prussia was going on about. Except that he had insulted his family. Eyes narrowed, England dove after Prussia, who was able to sidestep at the last minute and send England sprawling to the ground. Knowing what would come, he quickly rolled aside, just as the sickle blade was driven into the dirt where his head had been. England kicked out blindly, smiling grimly when his leg came in contact with his opponent and Prussia gave an 'oof' as he fell.

England scrambled to his feet, hoping to attack Prussia and get the weapon away from him before he regained his footing, but Prussia was too quick. They eyed each other warily. Prussia shrugged—England could practically see his thoughts, _Hey, I'm armed, he's not—_and England dove to the side as Prussia attacked, sickle swinging. He grimaced as he felt it cut a shallow slice along his side, but it was nothing major. England stumbled, but took the opportunity to grab a rock, which he flung at Prussia's head.

"Ow! Dammit, that stung."

"So sorry." England went for the weapon again, grabbing at the handle. Prussia jerked away, and they went down together. England took the opportunity to punch him in the face.

"Ow. Get the fuck off me, you goddamn psycho," Prussia growled.

"Stop calling _me_ the crazy one," England said, trying for another punch, but Prussia jerked his head aside and he ended up punching the ground with a wince. "Or the rest of my family!"

"You're attacking an armed man, while insisting he's the attacker! And France..."

"We all know what France is," England muttered. Pervert did not equal crazy.

"And have you ever watched a hockey game with Canada? And as for America..."

"Just shut up already!" England ducked his head toward Prussia's armed hand, biting down hard. Prussia yelped in pain as blood dripped from the wound on the back of his hand, and down England's chin. In that split second of pain, England was able to pry the sickle loose. He didn't give Prussia any time to recover. He brought the sickle down, hard, blade driving through Prussia's eye and into his brain with a _crunch_ of breaking skull.

"Holy shit..." England mumbled staring down at the gory scene he had caused. He swallowed back bile, grimacing. Prussia had attacked _them_. It couldn't be helped. England stood, hunching over to grasp the handle and yanked the blade free of Prussia's head. The sight _that_ caused made England take a moment to violently empty his stomach before staggering upright.

It occurred to England, as he headed back to fetch Canada, that of everyone who had killed in that game, he was the only one who had gotten jack shit for his trouble. No new land, nothing. He could have laughed, if he didn't feel like crying instead.

And when England returned to the clearing they had rested in, he found... nothing. His own bags were in the nook he had hidden them in, but Canada was gone.

Wonderful.

* * *

12 nations remaining


	11. Chapter 11

_So... remember way back in the beginning where I said that there were some specific scenes in Battle Royale that I just had to borrow? Yeah. This is one of those times. And I am so... so sorry..._

_Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine._

* * *

Canada trudged past the trees, completely lost (Lost? Could one even be lost when one did not have a place to be? And why did he try chasing after England in the first place?) but not particularly caring. The only thing fueling him onward was the lack of certain names in the announcements. No England, no America. No France, either. What had become of France? Canada felt another twinge of guilt about that. He felt a harsher twinge of guilt at the relief he had felt at hearing Prussia's name instead of England's. He had been Canada's friend! But... he had been the attacker, weapon coated in somebody else's blood... And neither Russia nor America had been mentioned, so obviously that confrontation had yet to happen. Canada swallowed at the thought. He hated to admit it, but he did not really think America would win in this situation.

Now if only he could run into one of them...

It was as if somebody had heard his wish, and promptly granted it. The figure that came stumbling toward him looked haggard, haunted, but it was _him_. Canada hadn't even seen his one-time caretaker since before the whole mess had started.

"France!" Canada hurried forward. "Oh, Francis, it's really you! Are you all right?" He looked terrible, but they all did. He didn't look _injured_, at least.

"M-Mathieu..." France breathed, staring at him in open-mouthed shock. "_Mon dieu_..."

Canada flung himself into France's arms, tears stinging his eyes. "Papa..." he found himself saying, despite the hundreds of years it had been since he had really called him that. "I'm so glad you're okay."

"Did you kill the others?" France's voice was almost a whisper.

"What?" Canada shook his head. "No, I haven't killed anyone!"

"You did not kill your brother? Or England?"

"No!" Why did he keep asking? "The last announcement wasn't long ago, you'd have heard if they were dead."

"Ah... I must have missed it." France chuckled. It was then that Canada took a step back, unnerved.

"France, are you okay?"

"So it's not 'papa' anymore?" France smiled sadly. "My boy... when did you get so big?"

Canada took another step back. "A long time ago, France. Seriously, are you okay?"

"I am now that you are here. My precious boy..." He quickly closed the gap Canada had created between them, embracing him tightly. Then, to Canada's shock, he pressed their lips together.

Canada jerked his head back. "What are you _doing_?"

"I missed you so much," France murmured, and kissed him again. Canada struggled in his grip, but found himself unable to break away. Panic started to rise. Something was _very_ wrong with France. Canada jerked away again, with all the strength he could muster, and they both went tumbling to the ground—unfortunately, with France on top.

"Get off!" Canada shoved at France, who was hovering over him and pawing at his clothes. "Get off of me!" France ignored him, tugging Canada's dress shirt open and nipping and kissing his chest. Canada kicked him. "You're my papa! You're not supposed to hurt me!"

"But you are the one trying to hurt me, are you not?" France said, almost purred. "I am trying to make you feel better... show you how much I missed you... my only friend abandoned me..."

"Oh god, stop..." Canada bucked and kicked, trying desperately to get away from France's cracked lips. But even in his screwed up mental state, France was a master of getting others undressed, and he worked deftly on Canada's clothing as he kissed his lips. Then his hand slipped down Canada's pants, squeezing, and something in the young nation's brain snapped.

"I said STOP!" Canada's fingers found the handle of the switchblade he had tucked away. He flicked it open and drove the knife upward, at an angle.

France tumbled off of Canada with an agonized howl, hands gripping the bloody mess between his legs. As he writhed and shrieked, Canada sat up, adjusting and re-buttoning his clothes. He removed his glasses and slipped them into a pocket to keep them clean, then sat on France's chest, straddling him. He pressed the bloody knife to his former colonizer, former _father_'s throat.

"Wh-why?" France whimpered. "Why didn't you just kill me?"

Canada leaned closer, hair falling forward to frame and shadow his face. "As others have learned, France: fuck with my vital region, and I fuck with yours." With that, Canada finally showed mercy and slit France's throat. He died with a pitiful gurgle, blood splattering Canada.

He retracted the blade and tucked his knife away, then slid off of France, staring at him. Canada remained that way for a time, just looking at France as his blood dried on Canada's skin. Then he shook himself, curling up into a ball beside the body. With a shudder, Canada buried his face into his hands and wept.

* * *

America studied his handful of berries. They were plump, and round, and red, and... and he had no idea what they were. A time of temporary mortality was not a time to experiment with random berries; he tossed them away with a sigh. How had he survived his childhood, anyway? "I really want a burger. Double cheeseburger with fries. I'd even take a scone. Hell, at this point I'd eat _poutine_!" Scowling, he broke off a chunk of his last ration bar, wishing Canada were there to smack him for his comment. And England, to tell them both to shut up and act their age.

America was so engrossed in his thoughts, he didn't realize the danger he was in until it was too late, and the barrel of a gun was pressed to his head. "Uh."

"Hello," said a cool feminine voice.

"Oh, Hungary, hey." America slowly turned to face her. "You're playing, huh?"

She nodded once, expression grim. "I'm playing."

"Your hair's a mess."

"So is yours."

America smiled. "Come on, Hungary, don't do this. I'm looking for my friends, you can come with me."

"Then what?" Hungary snorted. "We'll all escape and live happily ever after? Only one of us can live."

"There has to be another way."

"No there doesn't." Hungary backed away, gun not wavering. America felt a spark of hope that she was just leaving without a fight, but his heart sank when he realized she was retreating to her dropped bag. "I'm playing. And you're playing, too. And only one of us is leaving."

America opened his mouth to protest, but instead simply nodded. She wanted to play, fine. He was _tired_ of this. He wasn't going to argue. He'd play, too.

Hungary let her gun drop. "Out of bullets, actually." Oh, well, dammit. "But I've run across other useful things" She reached into her bag and pulled out a small metal object—a lighter, which she flicked, small flame snapping to life. "I found this discarded along with an empty water bottle the other day. I guess someone changed their mind about wanting it. Not very useful in a one-on-one match, I wouldn't think. Unless you're covered in something flammable? I didn't think so..." The flame vanished, and the lighter was also tossed aside. The next thing she pulled out was a bloody knife. "Do you know where I found this?"

America shook his head. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

"By Poland. His throat was slit. Apparently by Lithuania, who was shot. It looked kind of like he shot himself, but there was no gun there. Either he was murdered, or the gun was taken afterward. I guess it doesn't matter."

"It matters," America said with a grimace. "If he killed himself, his country is... gone."

"Oh well." Hungary gripped the knife tightly, teeth bared. "Come on, America. Let's see if the golden boy hero is a match for a sweet little girl."

"Sweet little girl?" America muttered.

"I know." Hungary rolled her eyes. "Even I can't say that with a straight face. Okay, let's go." With a fierce scream, Hungary charged at America, knife raised.

America studied her for a brief moment, then yanked his gun out and fired. She tumbled to the ground with another cry, flopping over in pain before lying still, groaning. America tucked the gun away and stepped closer, gazing down at her sadly.

"Cheating bastard!" Hungary said through gritted teeth.

"There are no rules to break," America said. "I'm sorry."

"Didn't you want to save us all?"

America winced. More than anything... "Yes, I did. But you didn't want to be saved."

"Ah well..." Hungary's body relaxed, her final breath escaping in a sigh.

America looked down at her for another moment, feeling numb. He helped himself to her weapons, and left.

* * *

Germany rubbed his temples. "For god's sake will you all please. Shut. Up!"

The argumentative trio paused in their fight, looking at Germany for about five seconds before they resumed yelling at each other. Even Italy had grown short-tempered lately, snapping at his brother and even Germany on occasion. Their numbers were dwindling (was it down to the single digits yet?), they were scared and angry and nobody trusted anybody anymore.

And Germany decided he could really go for a Jägermeister.

"Ah... _Doitsu-san_..."

Germany's head snapped up, eyes widening. "Japan?"

The small nation had kept his distance, hovering close to Greece, who was watching the fight with narrowed eyes. "What..." Japan swallowed. "What's going on?"

"It's obvious," Greece muttered. "They're trying to kill each other."

"No, no..." Germany said with a sigh. "They're just... arguing." Could they have possibly picked a worse time to run across them? It would be hard convincing anybody to be their allies when their own alliance was falling apart.

The Italies and Spain finally realized what was going on, and _finally_ shut the hell up. "Japan!" Italy said. His brother tried to hold him back, but Italy broke free and rushed over to Japan. He and Greece quickly hurried backward, away from the advancing Italian. "Japan...?"

"Don't come any closer!" Japan had a dagger in his hand.

"Japan?" Italy stared at him. "Wait, wait, we're friends!"

"Don't you point a fucking weapon at him, sushi-brains!" Romano said.

"We've been looking for others," Italy continued. At least he had stopped trying to approach the wary duo. "You'll join us, won't you?"

"We can't trust them," Germany heard Greece murmur. His heart sank when Japan gave a minute nod.

"You can trust us," Spain said, patting Romano on the head, who elbowed him in return.

Greece nudged Japan. "Come on..."

Two shots rang out, two bodies fell. Italy gaped in wide-eyed horror at Japan and Greece, sprawled on the ground. "What...?"

"Why did you _do_ that?" Spain said.

Germany slowly lowered the gun. "It sounded like they were preparing to attack us."

Italy slowly shook his head. "It sounded like... they were about to leave. You didn't have to kill them!"

"It was them or us!" Romano snapped. "I bet they'd have attacked!"

"You don't know that!"

Germany looked away. He had reacted without thinking. It had looked to him like Greece and Japan were plotting something... Or _were_ they just planning on running away? And here he had thought he wasn't succumbing to paranoia like everybody else...

They set off again, leaving the bodies behind, (but not before helping themselves to Japan's and Greece's supplies). For the time being, the arguments had halted. The only thing breaking the silence as they walked was the occasional quiet sob from Italy.

* * *

8 nations remaining

* * *

_I suddenly have this desire to write a very uber-fluffy fuzzy France story... -curls up in the corner-_


	12. Chapter 12

_Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine._

* * *

America calmly reloaded his gun at the first sign of rustling leaves. The sun was setting, a cool breeze had sprung up, and it was probably just the wind whistling through the trees. But you never knew, could never assume it was just nature making noises. Weapon ready to go, America aimed it in the direction the sound had come from, waiting. He smiled grimly when a figure advanced, gripping a bladed weapon of some sort in his fist.

"Stop where you are," he said. "I'll shoot."

"Oh, it's you." The other armed nation sagged, weapon dropping to his side. "You're okay?"

With a relieved smile, America tucked the gun back into a pocket. "Fine, Artie. You?"

England nodded, stepping closer. "I'm all right. Exceedingly glad you have not acquired a 'shoot first, question later' mentality."

They exchanged a brief hug, all they could muster with the mood they were in. America was relieved that England had not died in the time since the last announcement. And now he wouldn't have to be alone anymore. But wait...

"Canada's dead?" America bit his lip. If England confirmed that, he... well, he didn't know what he would do. Wouldn't he have felt it if something happened to his twin?

"No," England said, and America let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "I don't think so, anyway. We were attacked by Prussia. I led him away and took care of him. I'm sure he's all right, they'd have to notice him to kill him." England gave a strained smile.

"I would _kill_ for a cell phone about now," America grumbled. "All right, let's try and find him..."

So they set off, hunting. By some miracle, they did find him. It was almost fully dark when they located Canada curled up against a tree, shivering. They both gasped at the sight of dark splatters of blood all over him. "Hey," America said, "it's us. Are you okay?"

Canada turned to face them, teary eyes visible even in the dark. "I killed France."

"Oh..." America hurried to his brother's side and gathered him in his arms. Canada lay limply against him. "It's okay," he said lamely. "I had to kill Hungary." As if that was comparable, France and Canada had always been close. But something bad must have happened...

"We've all had to do things we regret," England said, voice subdued. "It's not our fault. The only ones of _us_ at fault for any of this are those like Russia, who chose to play. And even he might have his reasons..."

Canada nodded, wiping his eyes. America hadn't even realized he wasn't wearing his glasses. But Canada then tugged them out of a pocket, perching them back onto his nose.

"Are you okay?" America ran his fingers through his brother's hair.

"I'm okay."

"Good." The absurdity of the entire situation almost made America laugh. Had this reunion taken place closer to the start of the game, or even a day ago maybe, it would have turned out differently. They would have all embraced, laughed, shed a few manly tears, so happy to find each other again, so happy they were okay. They would have been utterly shocked at Canada's confession, saddened by the loss of France, horrified and angry that these sadists had forced him to kill somebody he cared for.

But instead it was just relief and weary acceptance. Even Canada's grief seemed to be fading now that he was being comforted by the rest of his family.

America thought briefly, enviously of their time earlier, playing stupid games together in the house they had claimed for a time. And then it struck him that things had to be pretty bad for him to be fondly reminiscing about an earlier point in the game, rather than before the kidnapping entirely. He missed home. He wondered what was going on out there, what their bosses and citizens were doing and thinking as the world changed around them. As countries inexplicably collapsed, or became part of other countries. There was probably a lot of chaos and terror.

"I'm tired..." Canada said, voice soft and weary.

"Sleep," England said. "Both of you. I'll keep watch."

They didn't need to be told twice. The twins huddled together and were both softly snoring in no time. Once they were asleep, England reached behind his neck. He fingered his collar, feeling the locking mechanism, expression grim and determined.

* * *

They had started walking further apart, since Japan and Greece's deaths. It was nighttime, but none of them felt comfortable going to sleep. According to the last announcement, their group represented half of those still alive. They had until noon. They knew they were capable of killing. And with so few nations remaining, it was easy to believe that everyone left was willing to try and win.

After a long silence, Italy finally piped up, "I don't think Japan and Greece really would have-"

"Don't," Germany said sharply. "Don't start up with that again. They certainly could have."

"Don't yell at him!" Romano said. "I always knew you were bad for him, potato-bastard."

"Stop calling Germany names!"

"Goddammit, I was _defending_ you!"

"Shut up!" Germany said for the five thousandth time.

Another silence fell over the group. They eyed each other warily, trust long since faded away. But none were willing to walk away, to leave their only companions behind and venture out alone. So together they stayed.

"Let's stop and eat," Italy said. "I'm hungry." Hungry enough that even he would eat the tasteless supplies without complaint. Without waiting for a response from the others, Italy came to a stop, digging in his bag. Seeing as how they didn't really have anywhere to be, anyway (and with only four others out there, it wasn't like they had plenty of enemies to be running from), the others halted as well. Spain plopped down on the grass. Romano moved to automatically join him, but was distracted by the sight of Germany striding over to Italy, reaching into his jacket. Distrust and anger, and not a little fear, flashed in the older Italy brother's eyes.

"Get away from him, goddammit!" Romano screamed, charging after them. Germany stumbled back with a grunt, staring in surprise at the handle of the dagger that had once belonged to Japan, now protruding from his chest. He leveled a shocked glare at Romano, at his killer, before tumbling to the ground.

"Ludwig!" Italy wailed. "Don't die!" He collapsed at Germany's side, sobbing hysterically. "Why? _Why?_"

Romano looked just as surprised as Germany had. "I..."

"You killed him!" Italy jerked his own gun out of Germany's jacket and whirled on his brother. "He was just coming to eat with me!"

"It was a mistake! I panicked! W-wait! Feli...!" Romano took a step forward, not believing his little brother would actually do it. Italy proved him wrong, squeezing the trigger, and Romano also fell. Italy watched him, following his brother's collapse with wide, horrified eyes.

"Lovi!" Spain took action next, pouncing on Italy, grabbing for the gun. "How could you? _How could you_? Your own brother!"

Italy released the gun with another wail, burying his face in his hands. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He gasped when the barrel of the gun was rammed into his stomach, jerked when the gun went off. "I'm sorry..." Italy slumped over across Germany's body, their blood mingling as he died there, leaving Spain alone...

Or so he thought. Romano groaned, rolling over slightly. Spain rushed to his side, dropping to his knees, wondering what to do. "Romano? Lovi?"

"B-bastard..." Romano murmured, rolling onto his side as he choked on his blood. "Dammit..."

"Hang on," Spain said desperately, looking over Romano's injured body and wondering what to do. "Hang on, okay?"

"C-can't..."

Spain shook him slightly. "Hey! Don't close your eyes! Dammit, Lovi, I _love _you!"

Romano's lips curved, just a little. "Yeah. Love you too, dumbass." He choked again, more crimson dribbling from his mouth. "Hey..."

Spain caressed his face. "Yes?"

"Please... please don't hate Feli."

"What?" Spain's forehead creased. He glanced over at the limp form slumped across Germany.

"Don't hate him. He... he was... this situation..." Romano grimaced. "Don't hurt him. Watch out for him."

The color drained from Spain's face. "Oh."

"Promise."

"I..." Spain stared down at him, starting to hyperventilate.

"Promise!"

"L-Lovi, I..."

He was spared having to lie. Romano grimaced again, drew in one last bubbly breath, and that was it.

Spain gazed dully around at the carnage, at his dead allies. At Italy, whom he was supposed to take care of. At Romano, whom he should have protected. Everything had gone to hell in such a short time. Spain picked the gun up, contemplating it for a moment before sticking the barrel in his mouth.

Their countries weren't even on his mind. He didn't think of all the land and innocent lives that were now a part of him along with his own country—Germany, Italy, Japan, Greece, and whatever nations those two had taken out before. He didn't give them a second thought as he pulled the trigger, and joined his companions in oblivion.

They lay there for an hour before they were discovered. Weary violet eyes took in the scene, the murders committed by friends, lovers, family. Russia allowed himself a moment to feel sad for them, to arrange the bodies so that they lay side-by-side. He nodded to the group, then turned to leave. He locked his emotions away once again, eyes growing cold as he hunted down the few that remained.

* * *

The process of waking up was a slow one. America was dimly aware of sunlight filtering in under his eyelids. He was happy to remain that way for a few moments, snuggled contently with somebody else on the bed, which was really rather uncomfortable... oh wait. He was on the ground, wasn't he? America finally forced his eyes open, blinking as they adjusted to the sunlight. He was tangled with Canada, both of them laying on the cold, hard ground, surrounded by trees. It was not a pleasant way to sleep. Goddamn Russia, chasing them out of their house... They should have found another one.

And oh. It was the morning of their last day. America extracted an arm to glance at his watch. Eight. It was eight! They had _four hours_ left. "Mattie..."

"Mm?" His brother snuggled closer, as he had when they were little colonies and Canada did not want to get up.

"Wake up. We've only got four hours."

Canada opened a single eye to peer at him. "Until what?"

"We've got four hours left. Period. Game over."

"Oh..."

"Did we both sleep all night?" America finally started to untangle himself, looking around. He spotted England not too far away, sitting on a log with his back straight, looking thoughtful. "Hey! For god's sake, were you up _all night_?" When England glanced his way and nodded, America groaned. "What the hell's wrong with you? We don't have much time left! We don't want to have to drag you around because you passed out!"

England calmly stood, dusting his pants off. "I'll sleep when we get home."

"We aren't going home," Canada said.

"How sleep deprived are you?" America added.

A slow smile spread over England's face, and America tried not to flinch away. He had lost it... "I'll be fine. We're going home. All of us. Hell, even Russia if he wants!"

America exchanged a look with his twin. "England..."

Still smiling, England reached behind his neck, fiddling with his collar as the brothers gaped at him. There was a _click_. They braced themselves. But all that happened was England's collar fell harmlessly to the grass.

* * *

4 nations remaining

* * *

_And I _still_ feel bad for France. "Oh, he's dead? And you had to kill him? ... Well, whatever. I'm too traumatized to care right now."_ XD


	13. Chapter 13

_Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine._

* * *

America stared at the collar lying open on the grass for what felt like an hour, barely able to believe what he was seeing. "England... you...?" He finally forced his eyes upward. "You did it?"

England smiled. It was the closest thing to a real smile America had seen from anyone in a while. It was like the sun coming up. "I figured it out. It took all night, but I figured it out."

"There's only four hours left." Canada swallowed. "How long will it take you to get ours deactivated?"

"Now that I know how, only about ten minutes per collar, probably." He shifted closer to the brothers, who immediately pointed toward each other.

"Do his first, just in case."

"No, you should do his first!"

Ignoring them, England simply turned toward America, presumably because he was closer. "Come on, turn around."

America turned his back toward England, shivering when he felt fingers brush against his neck. Canada stepped closer to watch, expression curious.

"What are we going to do?" America wondered. "Swim away?"

"If we must," England said. "We still have a couple hours to spend looking for the others, or transportation. But if we find nothing, we find nothing. The important thing is just getting the hell out of here."

"I hope we can find others," Canada said. "The last announcement said eight. I don't know why they haven't made another announcement since last night..."

"Who's left?" America tried to mentally run down the list of which names had been called to figure out who _hadn't_ been mentioned, but lost track. "Okay, so us, Russia, and four others. As of last night."

"Would you really want to help Russia after what he's done?" Canada said.

America felt England's fingers pause for a split second, then resume their work. "Sure. Why not? Maybe he has his reasons. We've killed. Not _quite_ so enthusiastically or mercilessly, but..."

America found himself nodding in agreement. He was so relieved to be getting out of there, he didn't care _who_ went with them. "I wanted to save everyone. Now that saving _anyone_ is a possibility, I'm not letting another nation die unless I have to."

"Right," Canada said softly. "We all go, if we can."

They talked big, but once their collars were removed, America figured the instinct would be to find the nearest beach and dive in. Not to mention the additional danger—the other survivors might kill them on sight. Were they still mortal without the collars? What had the rules on that been again? Maybe America could convince England and Canada to swim for safety while he looked for the others! Maybe they would—"Ow! What was that for?"

"Sorry," England said. "I guess I need to trim my nails."

"Oh." America looked down at his own, nibbled to the quick after a few stressful days. What had he been thinking about? Ah yes, convincing the other two to go on without him, and of course they wouldn't want to but he would _insist_, and promise that he wouldn't endanger himself and would leave at the slightest sign of—

His thoughts were interrupted again, this time by the familiar sound of a gunshot. America started in surprise, whirling in the direction the sound had come from. Sure enough, he was met by a violet gaze. Russia smirked, then disappeared back among the trees. "What the hell?" He was dimly aware of a scream behind him. Oh. America held his breath and turned around.

Canada was kneeling on the grass, shaking uncontrollably as he sobbed. Before him lay England, eyes frozen open in shock, face covered in blood from the hole that had been punched in his forehead. How could Russia have shot him from that angle? England must have heard something and turned...

America collapsed beside Canada, unable to tear his eyes away from England's wide emerald eyes, glazed over in death, and Canada was still screaming, and—no, that was himself, and Canada was pulling him into a tight embrace, and they clung to each other and wailed and America wasn't sure which voice belonged to whom but did it really matter?

"How?" America demanded, voice tinged with hysteria. "He didn't have the collar on! It was off!"

"T-ten feet," Canada said, burying his face in America's neck. "He said the collars had a ten foot radius. If England had stepped just a little further away..."

"Oh..."

America's initial resolve to find and kill Russia came, naturally, from a desire for vengeance. The bastard had taken England from him. He had seen the three of them standing there, and had chosen England, taking aim, and—and for that, America would kill him.

The second realization, which abruptly overshadowed the first, was that England was now _part_ of Russia! Whatever land Russia now owned, the United Kingdom was also a part of it. That, as much as anything else, made America's vision go red. He was going to fucking kill the bastard. America pulled away from his brother's comforting embrace, standing up and brushing himself off. He had been unsuccessful in chasing after Russia the last time. He would not be this time.

"W-wait..." Canada said, voice already hoarse, as America strode away. "Wait!" America ignored him. Russia had gone _that_ way, so he followed, as his twin continued to scream at him. He only dimly registered the last thing he heard Canada say before he left hearing range. "You fucking idiot! At least take a fucking _weapon_!"

* * *

America followed Russia's trail—trail? Since when did he leave such an obvious trail? He hadn't last time—for a while. He had no idea how long. The only things on his mind were England and Russia, until he finally forced England aside and concentrated solely on his opponent. He couldn't afford to mourn now. Time enough for that later.

He finally found him, waiting patiently in a clearing. Russia was leaning casually against a tree, arms folded, small smile on his face.

"You're not trying to get away?" America asked, slowing to a stop.

"Get away from what?" Russia straightened. "If I run from you, we both die." His smile grew. "You knew it would come down to this. Even in the beginning, we knew it would end with the two of us fighting for the prize."

"Great prize," America said with a snort. "Why do you want a confrontation? You could have easily killed me when you... when you killed England."

"I could have." Russia shrugged. "But that would not have been a nice way to win."

"You've been mercilessly slaughtering nations this _whole fucking time_! And _now_ you're worried about winning fairly?"

Russia grinned. "I'll admit, I considered it. I saw the two of you standing there, and thought of how easy it would be to win. But I found that I could not..."

Not a single mention of Canada. So Russia hadn't even seen him. That was good, it meant Russia wouldn't immediately hunt him down if he ended up winning this little confrontation. Though what about the others that remained? Were they all dead? Was it really just the three of them?

"So you decided to just kill England," America growled. "You fucked up, Russia. We were about to leave, all of us. We'd have taken you with us!"

Russia tilted his head. "About to leave? How?"

"England figured the collars out! Did you not notice, when you aimed at him, that he didn't have a fucking collar on? That he was working on mine?"

Surprise flickered across Russia's face. His eyes went distant as he thought back, hunting through his memory. "Ah. I suppose he did not." He heaved a sigh. Shrugged. "Oh well." He reached into the folds of his long coat, and America tensed.

"So you refrained from shooting me before, only to shoot me now?"

"Now you know what's happening," Russia said. "It's not the same as ambushing you from afar." He cocked the gun.

"It's still cowardly. Come on." America spread his unarmed hands. "Fight fair. Whichever of us dies can die like a man."

Russia pursed his lips, studying America for a moment. Finally, he uncocked the gun and let it drop. He reached back into his coat, removing another gun, and it joined the first one on the grass, followed by an assortment of other weapons he had taken off his victims or other bodies he had come across. Apparently he had been a busy collector. His pipe, America couldn't help but notice, did not make an appearance. Where in the world did he hide that thing?

"Very well, _zaychik moy_," Russia murmured.

America sighed. "That was a long time ago. I am not your bunny, Vanya."

"Ah." Russia continued to smile, though his eyes narrowed. What the hell was he up to? Trying to make America feel bad about wanting to kill him? It wasn't going to work.

America made the first move, launching himself at Russia, not even thinking about what he planned on doing once he reached him. Russia sidestepped, grabbing hold of America as he passed and propelling him into a tree. America grunted when he made impact, leaves raining down around him.

He ducked, just as Russia swung a fist at his head. America took advantage of their positions, tackling Russia like a football player, sending them both sprawling to the ground. But before America could take further advantage of his dominant position, Russia flung him away. _He's _stronger_ than me! I fucking _hate_ this!_

By the time America rolled to his feet, Russia had his pipe out. The adrenaline was coursing through America's veins, and he didn't even care that his opponent was armed. He just smirked. Like hell was a stupid _faucet_ going to kill him.

"Overcompensating again?" America asked with false cheer.

Russia glanced down the length of his pipe, then back at America with a smile. "You think this is overcompensating? That's too bad for you." He rushed forward, swinging, but America skipped back.

"Is it really just us?" America said.

Russia nodded. "I have been keeping track. Since the announcement last night, I ran across the other group that had still been alive. They had all killed each other."

He couldn't be keeping very _good _track, or there would still be one nation unaccounted for, even if he hadn't actually seen Canada. So... thirty seven nations had died. Holy _fuck_.

Russia moved in again, so America backed away again, bumping into a tree trunk. Russia was on him quickly, pipe held horizontally and pressed against his throat. America's eyes widened in alarm as the stupid thing dug into his windpipe, cutting off his air.

Russia sighed, breath cold on America's face. "There was a time when I would have paid any amount to see you like this."

Whatever. America gripped the pipe and kneed Russia in the crotch. The larger nation grunted, stumbling back. Unfortunately, he did not let go of his weapon as America had expected, and they tumbled down together. That started a bit of a wrestling match; they punched and kicked and bit, all while grappling for the pipe. And really, it _did_ feel quite gratifying, every time his fist made contact with some part of his on-again off-again on-again nemesis. At one point he ended up with a mouthful of blood after a particularly nasty bite on Russia's arm, and he enthusiastically spit the blood in Russia's face. The bastard retaliated by jerking the pipe out of America's grip and smacking him in the head. It wasn't hard enough to do any real damage, but still left America temporarily stunned, and Russia kicked him away. They both staggered to their feet.

Panting, America leaned against a tree, not taking his eyes from his opponent. Russia stared back, the only sign of his exertion the slightly deeper rise and fall of his chest. America gulped in a breath, cursing his lack of strength. He was drained, emotionally and physically, and Russia still looked fine! Mostly.

Russia finally smiled as America continued to stare. "Like what you see?"

America blinked, and slowly smiled back. "Yes, actually." He pushed away from the tree. "Why wouldn't I? You've always been a handsome nation."

"Hmm." Russia smirked, not moving as America continued to boldly approach. "I am not letting my guard down. I killed your lover, and it's down to just the two of us. Do you think I'm stupid?"

"We've got a couple hours left," America said with a shrug. He was close enough to touch, and reached a hand out to lightly caress Russia's face with his fingers. "I'm tired. I've got nothing left to lose. I'd rather continue this fight... later."

A spark of hope flashed in Russia's eyes. The first sign of life America had seen in them since before the kidnapping. "You are sure?" The poor thing. He apparently _wanted_ America to be serious. Maybe he hadn't been fucking around before, when he was calling America endearments before their fight. Maybe he was trying to desperately cling to what bit of humanity he hadn't lost in this mess of a game.

In answer, America leaned forward and lightly touched their lips together. Russia's amethyst eyes widened in surprise before fluttering closed, and he deepened the kiss, large hands gripping America's shoulders, pressing him closer.

America broke the kiss after a couple minutes, traveling lower, kissing along his jaw and down to his sensitive neck, pushing the scarf aside. He felt Russia tremble slightly, felt one of Russia's hands leave his shoulder to travel down to the small of his back. America couldn't suppress a shiver of his own.

Russia was finally showing signs of life, after apparently locking all emotion away for the game. It almost made America feel bad.

Almost. The fucker had killed England.

America nipped at Russia's collarbone, fingers caressing his neck. Russia didn't even seem to suspect anything when America worked his fingers closer to the silver collar around his neck. He snapped open the latch—the latch England had figured out, the latch England had been working on when he was murdered—and quickly jerked away, taking a step back, out of Russia's embrace. Russia only had a split second to react, eyes widening as the betrayal hit him. "No-"

America just smiled as the collar's small, concentrated explosion burst a hole in Russia's throat, spraying America in a shower of blood. Russia forced his agonized expression into a glare of pure hate as he collapsed to his knees, then slumped over.

America licked the blood off his lips, felt more dribble down his face. He shifted slightly, pants uncomfortably tight. Even if it had been a ruse, their makeout session had left him in a state that would have been embarrassing had there been any witnesses. "Dammit, Russia, look what you've done. You went and died on me after getting me all hot and bothered. Not very gentlemanly of you." He settled down beside his dead enemy, not caring that he was sitting in a puddle of blood. America shifted again, then unbuttoned his pants, freeing himself from the constricting clothing. Yes, that wouldn't do at all. Closing his eyes, America reached between his legs with a bloodstained hand to take care of the problem.

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2 nations remaining


	14. Chapter 14

_The exciting conclusion! This was actually the first Hetalia fanfic I'd started. :D Come to think of it, it might have led me into writing Hetalia fanfiction... Long before I'd considered returning to the world of fanfic writing, I came across a Japanese fanart of the Hetalia cast with BR uniforms and collars, and I thought "Dude, that'd be interesting..." lol So yeah. My thanks to all the readers and reviewers! It's been... fun? XD_

_Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine._

* * *

Canada curled his aching, trembling body into a ball, mind trying to shut down as it couldn't take any more. Everyone was dead. Almost everyone. And he would be next. The announcement had just piped up over the hidden speakers to announce that only two nations remained. And unlike all the previous times, the casualties were left unsaid. Two left. Just him and... well, he knew who was left. Who had to be left. America—that big horrible fucking _idiot—_had run off unarmed to confront Russia. Russia, who had taken everyone else out with ease. Even the great self-proclaimed hero America would be no match for him, unarmed and as upset as he was.

"I'm sorry," Canada whispered to his only companion—England, lying stiff and still in the grass, the blood that had long since stopped flowing crusted and congealing on his head. Canada stared at him for a long moment before tearing off a piece of his own shirt and using spit to try and clean the pale face off as best as he could. Why hadn't he thought to do that sooner, while it was still wet? "I'm sorry. I should have protected him. But now you're together again, eh? And soon I'll be with you, too... soon..." He drew in a shuddering breath.

By the time he heard the sound of somebody approaching behind him, Canada's fear had faded. What did he have to fear, anyway? The pain would be hopefully brief, and then he could be with them all. Everyone. They would be waiting for him. He would no longer have to worry about any of this...

That figure in the distance was _not_ Russia. Definitely not. It was shorter, thinner, not be-scarfed, and it definitely had a cowlick.

"Oh my god," Canada whispered. He hadn't even considered the possibility that _Russia_ had been the one to die. How was that even possible? And why did it matter at that point? He shoved his body upright, stumbling the first few steps like a child just learning to walk, and then flung himself at his brother. "Al... my god, it's _you_." He clung to America, tears seeping out from between his scrunched up eyelids.

"It's me." America held him close. "Did you hear? Just the two of us."

"I heard... How in the world did you kill Russia?"

"A bit of trickery, I guess. I don't know. The whole thing's a blur." America finally stepped back, smiling through his tears. He was covered in blood, but none of it seemed to be his. "So... now what?"

That was a good question. Now what? "We still have a couple hours left."

"Before we both die. Yeah."

Canada swallowed. "Any ideas?"

His brother shook his head. "It took England all night to figure the collars out, and he is... was the only one familiar with weird magic shit." His eyes grew pained as they flicked past Canada to focus on the body on the ground. "I could have all the time in the world, I'd never be able to figure out some weird combination of state-of-the-art technology _and_ magic."

"Me either..." Canada's legs refused to hold him any longer, and he dropped back to the ground. America sat down beside him. "One of us has to die."

"One of us..." America sighed. "Right. Or the whole world is fucked."

"Whoever lives needs to get revenge..." That much was certain. However long it took, they would pay. "Needs to... pretend to go along with them. For as long as it takes to gain their trust. And then..."

"Right." America barked a laugh, devoid of humor. "And once they're out of the picture, whoever's left gets to be one bigass country..."

Canada forced his lips into a smile. "Yeah..." America _was_ a bigass country now. Canada wondered if he felt any different.

"Mattie?"

"Hm?"

America slowly turned to him, and Canada unconsciously shied away. Oh god, no... there it was. That mad gleam he had seen in others' eyes when they lost it. The look he had seen in France's eyes... "A-Al...!"

"I have no intention of dying here," America said, slowly, and oh god, that was not his voice! He lurched forward; strong hands were wrapped around Canada's throat, squeezing harder and harder. Canada struggled, trying to twist out of his grip, but couldn't. They tumbled to the ground, rolling over and over, both trying to gain the advantage. Canada desperately scratched at the hands around his throat, unable to cause any damage. He struggled, squirmed, tried to hit or kick his brother, anything to get him off. Nothing worked. Canada finally fell back, too weak to fight anymore. America hovered over him, lips twisted into a sick smile. Canada's vision grew dark and his lungs screamed for air. This was it. He was dying, by his twin's hands.

He reacted without thinking, some primal instinct that still wanted to live. He didn't even know what he was doing, until America toppled away from him with a hoarse cry, hands reaching for the knife sticking out of his gut. The very knife America had been given at the start of the game. He pulled it out and let it drop, dark patch of blood rapidly spreading over his already blood-crusted shirt. "M-Mattie..."

Canada stared at his brother as he fell. America groaned, conscious still but not for long. The wound was fatal, that much he could tell. Canada stared in open-mouthed shock at what he had done. He had really done it. He had killed America. He couldn't very well say he felt like celebrating for being the winner. He had caused the deaths of the two people who had meant the most to him...

Something fell from America's jacket as he curled up on the ground. Canada stooped over to pick it up. A gun. It was loaded. Trembling, understanding now what had happened, he knelt down, fishing in America's clothes. Another gun, a knife... weapons he must have stolen from Russia. "You... you idiot," he gasped, tears returning. "You could have easily killed me if you wanted to."

America smiled. A genuine smile, for the first time in what felt like forever. The gleam of madness was completely gone. He could be a damned good actor when he wanted to. "Or I could have opened your collar, like I did to Russia." A pained grimace that passed quickly. "I wouldn't have _strangled_ you, stupid."

"Shut up..." Canada gathered his brother in his arms. "Why? Why do you want _me_ to be the winner?" He couldn't believe he had fallen for it.

"Aside from the obvious reason of not wanting you to die... because you'd be a better winner."

Canada frowned. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

It took him a moment to answer. "They'll trust you. You're the quiet, forgotten little good boy. Me, they'd expect me to start some shit. They'd keep a much closer eye on me, waiting..."

"I don't want to be the winner!" Canada burst out, tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Shh." America weakly reached a hand up to trail his fingers over Canada's wet cheek. "Stop."

Canada drew in a shuddering breath. Getting upset and protesting would help nothing. It was already done. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry..."

America smiled wanly. "That's better."

"And wh-what would you have done if I _hadn't_ fought back?"

"Stopped." A trickle of blood dribbled down America's chin. "Maybe tried to reason with you about killing me."

"That would have gone over well..."

"Doesn't matter. You did what you were supposed to." He grimaced in pain when Canada abruptly stood, America still held in his arms. "What...?"

"There." Canada set his twin down beside England.

"Oh. Thanks." He took a deep breath, and grimaced again. "Dying sucks."

It was so absurd, Canada couldn't help but laugh a little. "I'm sorry. I should have made it quicker."

"Nah. Not your fault." America lay back, eyes drifting shut. Canada felt a wave of sadness, knowing he wouldn't see their bright blue again. "Hey..." America said, voice barely audible.

"Yes?" Canada leaned closer.

"Make me proud."

Canada smiled, reaching down to take America's hand. "I will."

He remained sitting that way, even after America was dead. It was funny, he mused. He had always assumed losing his brother would be more... painful. Something he would physically feel the loss of. But, he figured, it was probably different when nothing happened to the land. The United States was now a part of him. As was Russia, and England, and... and, well, _everyone_ who hadn't killed themselves.

With a weary sigh, the winner, the largest and most powerful country in the world, settled back and waited to be picked up.


End file.
